


Evidence of Life

by Winkstine5



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: 100 day prompt challenge, Chantry hate, F/M, M/M, Rating May Change, dead man's ramblings, is there a general tag for spiteful character who just hates everything, like i mean a general embracing of death on a constant basis, lots of emotional drinking, will add additional ~content~ as we progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-13
Updated: 2015-05-19
Packaged: 2018-03-12 01:26:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 29
Words: 27,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3338825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winkstine5/pseuds/Winkstine5
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Snippets of Inquisitor/Cassandra in no particular order with no particular plot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Beginnings

**Author's Note:**

> "what's up everybody it's auto i'm doing a 100 day challenge with my inquisitor and cassandra  
> let's do this shit"
> 
> i'm basically just trying to see if i'll actually follow through with this  
> link to the challenge i'm doing is bellow
> 
> this stars my favoured and terrible male dalish inquisitor Yevan Lavellan and his pursuits and just in general him being an absolutely insufferable individual
> 
> i apologise for any errors or strange "makes no sense" moments within this my english is atrocious

be·gin·ning  
bəˈɡiniNG/  
noun  
plural noun: beginnings  
_the point in time or space at which something starts._

Yevan had never had a more ruder awakening. As a hunter and disguished member of the clan Lavellan, he'd certainly been awoken by it all, each instance more absurd than the one before it. Never in all his days did he ever expect to be awoken by his _hand._

  
He blinked slowly and groggily, lashes fluttering in momentary confusion as his violet eyes tried their very best to focus. His gaze shot down to his left hand in an instant, eyes shooting wide open in terror as he got a good look at the cause of discomfort.

  
His left hand burned worse than anything he had ever encountered, the very center of his palm pulsating with a sharp pain that made a dagger through the hand seem like a walk in the park by comparison. Bright green wisps of light engulfed his entire hand and a better part of his forearm with a flame like spread, leaving nothing in its wake but miserable vexation. Turning his hand over and opening and closing his palm did little to ease the strange alienation he felt towards his _own hand_. For the briefest of moments, he considered asking one of the guards beside him to very politely amputate his left arm and save him from his torment.

The very moment he lifted his head to ask the guard to his immediate right, the door adjacent to him creaking loudly as it was swung open on its hinges, a shadow standing in the doorway. The sudden light shining right into his eyes made him turn away in irritation, squinting to adjust as two women strolled into the room.

  
Yevan opted for the option of flirting his way out of the situation as he'd done many times prior to this capture, watching them both circle him with a hint of amusement on his face.

  
"A shame I'd meet you two under such circumstances." He drawled, the hooded one ignoring him while the armour-clad woman made a noise of disgust, walking towards his left side. The hooded woman stood in front of him, Yevan staring at her with a smirk, attempting to work him charm on her.

"Tell me why we shouldn't kill you now." The warrior spoke suddenly behind him, the elf turning to look at her, making a face at what she stated. She began to walk around him, his eyes following her.

"The Conclave in destroyed. Everyone who attended is dead." She stopped and pointed at him accusingly. 

"Except for you." 

Yevan narrowed his monolidded eyes at her, his previous flirtatious smirk and attitude replaced with hostility.

"Let me guess. You think  _I_ did it. The sole survivor. The only conceivable conclusion that you can possibly come to is that I, as the only living remnant of the Conclave, must be responsible." He quipped in a mocking tone, hoping to ruffle a few feathers.  _  
_

The warrior reached down and grabbed his already shackled hand and lifted it, Yevan tightening his jaw at the pain that such a simple action caused him

"Explain  _this_." She spat, throwing his arm down uncaringly, the heavy metal of the shackles hitting the stone floor, making Yevan hunch forward. He hissed in pain, looking up at her and glaring.

"You expect me to explain this? I don't even know it fucking  _got there_!" He snapped at her, the warrior turning on her heel and advancing at him, grabbing his shoulders and shaking him. It wasn't enough to hurt him but it was certainly enough to piss him off.

" _You are lying!"_ She proclaimed in his face. He bared his teeth to her in fury, unintelligible curses in elven spilling from his lips. The hooded woman moved between them then, putting space between the warrior and himself, for what little good it did. If he hadn't been in excruciating pain and currently bound, he would've attacked and killed them both.

_"We need him, Cassandra."_

Yevan snorted at that, shaking his head and not catching the looks both women gave him. 

"Of course, you _would_  need me. I'm sure you treat all important people with the same degree of hospitality." He quipped, still refusing to look at them, focusing on his mark. He had only spoke  to keep himself grounded and not lose himself to the fear he felt for the monstrosity residing within his hand.

The woman in the hood turned to him then, Cassandra scowling at him from behind her as fiercely as he was her. The former was trying to play as a neutral party between them but Yevan hated her as he hated the woman behind her.

"Do you remember what happened? How this began? " She asked. He read her attitude as sincere and inwardly rolled his eyes.

"No." He stated plainly, still glaring at Cassandra

"No?" The hooded woman repeated as if surprised.

"What do you wish for me to do, proclaim my innocence? You've already taken upon yourselves to decide my fate for me. What difference would it make if I told anything?" He snapped, turning his glare from the warrior and onto the rogue. 

"Information. You were the only one who survived. Surely there is something you can recall." She stated back to him in the same hostile tone he had on.

" _Fine_ , if you _must_  know," Yevan sighed in irritation, brows furrowing in concentration as he tried to remember. "I don't remember much... I was running, there were things chasing me and... A woman?" 

That seemed to intrigue her, brows furrowing in thought and she uncrossed her arms.

"A woman?"

"Are you going to repeat everything I say? Yes, a woman. The shape of one, at least. She reached out to me and from there it's blank. That is  _all_ I remember." He said shortly, watching the hooded woman cross her arms again.

A heavy sigh sounded and Cassandra stepped forward, now standing between him and the woman in the hood.

"Go to the forward camp, Leliana. I will take him to the rift." Her voice sounded, Leliana bowing her head. She casted one last look at Yevan on her way out, earning a fierce glare in return before turning and retreating from the cell.

The door shut soundly behind her, Cassandra looking over her shoulder down to him before turning and walking over. She kneeled down in front of him, producing a key and unlocking one of the shackles. Before he could attempt to swing at her like he so desperately wanted to do, she trapped his wrist in a crushing grip, binding his wrists together with rope quite securely.

"So... What  _did_ happen?" Yevan asked quietly as she tied his hands together, wincing as she pulled the rope a bit too tight. She was quiet, her jaw set and tightened in what he assumed to be bitten back anger.

"It... will be easier to show you." She explained, tying one last knot before standing. She reached down and roughly grabbed his arm and pulled him to his feet, Yevan swearing immediately.

"Yes, handle me rougher, why don't you. It's not like I'm in any  _pain_ or anything." He grumbled, Cassandra giving him a glare and tightening her hold on him, dragging him out of the cell. He could barely register what she dragged him passed, looking around quickly to try and memorize their surroundings in case he needed the information for later. She pulled him out of the cozy stone walls of the building he was captive in and into the snow outside. 

Yevan squinted against the change in light and raised his hands to block it for a moment, the pressure on his arm relieved as Cassandra walked ahead of him. He lowered his hands once his eyes adjusted, staring in awe at the sight before him.

She had started to speak but it feel upon deaf ears as he stared at the gaping hole in the sky. He felt his arm start to burning again, mild at first before exploding into a shock of pain the rattled his entire body. He felt it in every inch of him, screaming out in pain, his knees giving out from the agony and sending him collapsing to the ground. She was in front of him now, kneeling before him, pointing at him again and speaking but only one thing she stated stuck with him.

_It is killing you_.

The words rung in his head over and over, his eyes zeroing in on the green gash marring his palm. The pain from it had been dull and consistent upon his awakening but now it was unbearable. It was sharp and cut deep, only seconds in between the pulses for him to catch his breath before the pain started again, stabbing at every inch of him. It was killing him, alright, in the slowest and most agonizing way possible. He slowly looked from his hand and back to Cassandra, her expression softening a fraction from what he assumed was due to the look on his face. 

"So, I don't really have a choice in this." He said without thinking, watching her face harden again, eyebrows furrowing further.

She pulled him to stand again in the same rough manner as before, parading him passed tents of people, telling him that they had already decided his fate, that he had killed the Divine. Yevan couldn't really bring himself to care nor listen, his eyes fixated solely on the Breach in the sky.

Cassandra pulled him through the gate, only snapping out of his thoughts when he heard it close behind him. She produced a dagger from behind her back and he stared at it before looking at her, as if daring her to try anything. She simply cut the rope off that was binding his hands, Yevan's brows raising slowly in surprise. He'd half expected her to slit his throat and, frankly, wouldn't've blamed her. She walked ahead of him and he moved his legs slowly to follow, looking around in alarm, his eyes still landing on the Breach.

He'd been lucky his entire life and it had finally run out. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> link to the challenge: http://30daychallengearchive.tumblr.com/post/36506942591/100-theme-challenge
> 
> title is inspired from the quote:  
> “Poetry is just the evidence of life. If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash.”  
> ― Leonard Cohen


	2. Spell

spell  
spel/  
noun  
noun: spell; plural noun: spells  
_3\. an ability to control or influence people as though one had magical power over them._

 

Cassandra was a firm believer in Andraste.

She believed in the Maker. She trusted his actions and she knew that, though she may not always agree with them, he always had a plan.

Despite knowing all this  _very well,_ she couldn't help but be weary of the Herald Andraste had sent for them.

She _hated_ him.

Cassandra absolutely _loathed_ the Herald of Andraste.

She hardly knew him but, with the impression he’d left on her during their brief time together, she had come to realize she really didn’t want to get to know him.

Yevan Lavellan was crass. He was cruel, untrustworthy, self-centered, and discourteous. He was, as Leliana had put, an asshole. Really and truly, Andraste’s Herald was an _absolute_ asshole.

And he hated her as well, considering he spared no kind words for her—or anyone else for that matter. He argued with Solas during their travels, constantly mocking the elf and rudely interrupting him solely to tell him just how foolish he thought he was. He openly jabbed at Leliana and her at the war table constantly, ignoring them and disagreeing with them at any turn. 

He had only been in their company for a few short weeks and he was absolutely  _unbearable_ to be around. 

They couldn’t be near each other for longer than five minutes before they were arguing. Lavellan constantly gave her the cold shoulder and snapped at her—not that she fared any better in their interactions. The Seeker tended to raise her voice when trying to speak with him and that just riled him up further until they were on a full-on shouting match and had to be separated, something of which had been a _very_ common occurrence during their scouting operations in the Hinterlands. In fact, the entire time they forced to be near each other in the Hinterlands had been nothing but constant fighting. He was very short with her and would make it well-known when he believed she was doing something he considered foolish. He took Varric's side, both of them obviously having a mutual distrust of her due to their imprisonment by her hands. Varric, at least, was more civilized than Yevan was about his dislike.

As if his hostility and cruelty wasn't bad enough, the elf was cunning, charismatic and  _deceptively_ charming.  He had an uncanny ability to use only words to make people bend to his will, always having an ulterior motive. He exerted some kind of spoken control over people to get them to do exactly what he wanted. He had such staggering confidence when he spoke—as if he knew that he would not only be heard but listened to. She’d seen that charm in action in the Hinterlands, witnessed him get into verbal battles with stubbourn individuals who refused to give into his demands and, with just a sleight of tongue and a few well placed words, walk away victorious with what he'd demanded and then some. As for his charm, she'd heard of his flirtations with members of the Inquisition, Josephine and Commander Cullen admitting to being targets of his honeyed words. 

He never used that charm on her—at first. After Val Royeaux, there was a slight change in his demeanour. He'd been very cruel and callous to everyone before, lashed out at them out of anger and isolated himself from them any opportunity they got. Upon leaving Val Royeaux, he thawed enough to be approachable. He wasn't the ticking bomb of fury he'd been during the scouting operations.

Yevan had literally approached her at Haven to ask her about herself. Cassandra, naturally, was untrustworthy of his motives and remained icy towards him. He didn't seem all that bothered by it, either. They had only spoke briefly but it was enough to settle the intense animosity that had been between them. But she still didn't trust him. She'd learned from being in his company that he never made such an advance without having an ulterior motive. If someone needed something done, Lavellan was happy to oblige and assist them with whatever they needed. There was always a catch with him, however. He'd brought people supplies and personal effects in exchange for anything ranging from coin to information--often times information that he later sold to another party. He was little more than a thug using his title to make coin on the side for himself. Cassandra had never seen him put forward any of the coin he made in his little deals towards the Inquisition efforts at all.

Cassandra had come up with a few theories about the Herald herself, considering he wasn't willing to indulge anyone's curiousity about himself and very little was known about him. Anything Leliana knew and tried to share he would disprove and leave them at the beginning once more. At first, she thought him to be a mage toying with forbidden and arcane arts to get what he wanted and bend the wills of people. She strongly considered blood magic, seeing how people so willingly gave into anything he said that is almost seemed like mind control. She didn't find much conclusive evidence and, upon clearing out the apostate stronghold in the Hinterlands, learned of his hatred for mages. He was disgusted by magic and rebel mages the most, condemning them to death each time they ran across one. He also didn't carry a staff or use any kind of magic during battle, just throwing himself into battle with his daggers and cutting down anything or anyone in his path.

He was an enigma, the Herald was. His flippancy towards her, his master skills with speech and deception and the mystery that was who was and where he came from. Many were complacent not knowing who he truly was and what motives he had but they were also ones he'd charmed into a willful ignorance. Be it by magic or not, Lavellan had casted a spell upon everyone he met to fall for his charm and charisma—except for her. She remained resistant to his charms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm gonna be honest, lots of these prompts are absurd but i am doing my best


	3. Woods

wood  
wo͝od/  
noun  
plural noun: woods  
_2. an area of land, smaller than a forest, that is covered with growing trees._

 

Yevan was acutely aware of someone tailing him as he walked down the path towards the gate passed the small cabin by the rock formations that led to a wooded area. He went there often for alone time with his thoughts, a calm place to try and repress the storm of anger within him. For someone to be following him was absolutely invasive.

He sighed, settling on a rock and turning to see who was following him. Sure enough, he could see the Seeker's form just beyond the gate. She watched him with that annoyingly untrusting stare, her arms folded across her chest, jaw tense and set in a hard line. It was laughable, really. She still believed that he was going to run at the first opportunity. Self-obsessed as he was, Yevan wasn't stupid. The sooner he got that damned Breach close, the sooner he could leave and return to his clan.

He waggled his fingers at her in a wave, a smug smirk on his face. Her upper lip curled in disgust and she turned away to leave, Yevan chuckling to himself and facing forward, shaking his head. She was bothersome woman, that was for sure. They'd been back from Val Royeaux for days now and she was still acting like he was her prisoner. He really didn't care, however. He'd come to accept that he was here for the long haul now and didn't plan on losing sleep because of his strained relationship with the Seeker. 

Besides, it wasn't like he hadn't been friendly. He  _had_ apologised formally to both her and Leliana for his egregious behaviour, though he hadn't offered Solas the same olive branch. As much as he detested Cassandra, there was no one he more disliked than that damnable elitist. Though Warden Blackwall and his irritating obsession with honour was quickly wearing on his patience more than Cassandra had.

Lavellan sighed and shook his head, rubbing his nose bridge and chuckling. The lady Seeker had certainly been occupying his thoughts recently more than he liked. He wasn't sure why, either. Sure, he'd flirted with her a couple times as he wont to do but she certainly wasn't  _special_. She took him at face value and didn't fall for his charm like everyone else seemed to. It was quite refreshing to have someone loathe him, if he was being honest with himself.

Besides, it's not like he wanted anything to branch from his flirtations. He got what he needed from tavern girls and the occasional soldier, sometimes inn workers or bards when they were traveling. He couldn't explain why he had a fixation on Cassandra but he did. He actively sought her out for advice and her opinions on certain things, something he didn't seek out others for. She was similar to him, in a way. She was brash and to the point, something he valued greatly in people and rarely found within the Inquisition. 

"Okay,  _enough_." He said aloud to cease his train of thought, standing and rubbing his temples. 

"You're thinking of her again, you came here to do the  _exact opposite_." He reminded himself, sighing and heading towards the dock in the area that peaked over the frozen lake. He strolled across it and sat at the very age, staring at the iced-surface of the lake, focusing on relaxing and unwinding. Even so, his eyes strained upwards to the tents, able to make out the Seeker's sword swinging and slicing into the training dummies. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im just playing POVs at this point
> 
> happy valentines day


	4. Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> continuation of 3???? sort of????

dark  
därk/  
adjective  
_3\. (of a period of time or situation) characterized by tragedy, unhappiness, or unpleasantness._

 

 

People everywhere were praying, many crammed within the Chantry building to pray within the Holy walls, groups of people often found huddled outside in Haven praying desperately amoungst themselves. Others followed Leliana's example and prayed in solitude, be it on display or hidden behind buildings or walls. 

Yevan himself had never been one to pray and he certainly wouldn't follow example and start now. Even so, it was discerning to see so many clinging to every hope they could and devoting countless hours to prayer. The gravity of the situation weighed heavily on his shoulders and he still continued to play it off as if it didn't bother him. Josephine was right, he  _had_ to be that symbol for hope for them now. As much as he didn't want to and as much as he detested humans, he couldn't bear the misery. Misery caused by him onto others was one thing but this was something out of his control; something he could  _change_.  _  
_

He rolled his eyes at himself and shook his head, leaning off the wall of the Chantry and stalking away from the building towards the tavern. He was around the devout too often that now he was starting to  _sound_ like them.

It was vexing. 

On the short journey to the tavern, he passed a few groups of people deep in prayer, biting down at the inside of his cheek to keep himself from doing something he'd regret. Their general gloominess and presence was certainly not helping the situation but neither would his bitterness.

He pushed open the door to the tavern and was greeted with the familiar and relaxing noise of the building, taking a seat at the bar and getting a drink, sipping it contently.

The gloom and doom of outside had seeped into the tavern as well, judging by the number of people currently drowning their sorrows in as much alcohol as they could get their hands on. It was a depressing sight to have to drink around, Yevan finding it even more suffocating within the tavern than outside. He simply couldn't escape from the weight of the Divine's passing and the mourning of those lost to the Rifts. If he had more of  heart, he probably would've understood.

With a sigh, Lavellan stood up, thanking the bartender before leaving the tavern, walking towards the main gate. He dragged his hands down his face and sighed, heading for the one person he knew would give it to him straight.

The lady Seeker lowered her sword when she saw him approaching, turning to him.

"Do you need something?" She murmured, Yevan crossing his arms and staring at the Breach. 

"Advice, perhaps." He started before looking back to her. 

"You will need to be less vague." Cassandra drawled, crossing her arms in turn.

"Morale is low ever since the whole Templar situation at Val Royeaux. What do you think I should do about it? I am, after all, the 'Herald'. Something should be done, at the very least, to keep the people's minds at ease." Lavellan shrugged, jaw tightening a fraction with thought.

"I doubt recruiting the mages amoungst us would bring up everyone's hope." He added as an after thought.

"You do what you think is best, Herald. News of your good deeds brings more life here. They pray for those they have lost but they will celebrate and walk a bit taller knowing you are helping others like them." Cassandra explained, uncrossing her arms.  

"Anything to lighten the atmosphere here. It's dreadful." Yevan grumbled, shaking his head.

"Show some compassion. The Divine was important to all of us and a great number of people here lost loved ones with the attack at the Conclave and the Rifts. Given time to mourn, they will move on when success begins rolling in." She pointed out, turning from him to look at the Breach.

"But focus on sealing the Breach. I'm sure everyone here will sleep easier once that is taken care of." Cassandra gave a nod and turned from him taking out sword and attacking the dummy's again. He thought about what she'd said, stroking his chin in thought while watching her. 

It seemed to simple of a solution but he doubted Cassandra would lead him astray. He trusted her; as much a thief could, anyway. 

"Thank you, Cassandra." He said after a while, the Seeker giving him a curt nod that brought a smirk to his lips. She would give him sound advice and reassurance but still didn't like him. Cassandra was always a grounding person to have a brief chat with. 

Yevan turned from her and headed away, going back towards the Chantry and the war room to do exactly what Cassandra had suggested.


	5. Wish

 

wish  
wiSH/  
verb  
_1\. feel or express a strong desire or hope for something that is not easily attainable; want something that cannot or probably will not happen._

 

 

"Let's set up camp--I am  _exhausted_." The Inquisitor grumped from his horse, looking over his shoulder at his companions before facing forward, two of three agreeing with him immediately. The group rode a bit further until the settled on a spot, Dorian getting down from his horse gracefully as compared to Sera and Cassandra. Yevan got off of his horse, taking the reins of his and Sera's to lead them to water, Cassandra and Dorian getting down the supplies to set up camp.

Lavellan watched the horses, gently stroking his horse's mane, smirking in amusement while he listened to Sera and Dorian chatter with each other nonsensically, Cassandra focused on setting up tents. He situated the horses while the others handled setting up the camp, Sera volunteering to go hunting for supper while Dorian went to gather fire wood. Cassandra made sure the tents were sturdy, gathering stones to make a suitable fire pit. Yevan smirked while watching her, crossing her arms and leaning against a ledge of stone near the water, tilting his head.

Cassandra stepped back once she was pleased with the fire pit, looking up and towards Lavellan to find him staring at her. 

"We should get the horses something to eat." He said dryly, leaning off the edge and strolling over to the horses, taking the knapsacks and such off of the back of his horse, going over to where the camp was set up and setting down the knapsacks, Cassandra humming in agreement. 

"I am certain there are supplies in one of these bags." The Seeker gestured to them, taking off her chest pieces and armour before sitting down comfortably, setting aside her gloves and rubbing her hands. Yevan nodded and knelt down to search through the sacks, finding the feed and getting up, going over to feed the horses, taking care of them as was his duty. 

Dorian strolled back over with his arms full of firewood, loading up the pit and sparking it a few times with his magic until it lit. Everyone immediately crowded around the fire, shedding the heavier pieces of their armour, chatting lightly and eating bits of their day rations while they waited for Sera to return.  She showed up a while later with plenty of ram meat to throw on the fire to roast, taking example and shedding her heavier armour before plopping between Dorian and Yevan, warming her hands by the fire.

 "This place is shit, innit?" She spoke up, looking back and forth for some kind of reassurance. Dorian hummed in agreement, leaning his head against his hand. 

"Three days without a decent bath or place to camp? You are absolutely right in your verdict." The Tevinter drawled with a lazy nod, watching the fire in boredom. 

"You should be thankful you did not accompany us in the Forbidden Oasis." Cassandra spoke up, Yevan grinning and laughing, Dorian rolling his eyes and leaning his head off of his hand, holding up his hands in defense.

"I will not sit here and be mocked. Why couldn't we have ridden until we hit the village and gotten some  _decent_ lodging?" He questioned, Yevan shrugging a shoulder, leaning back on his hands.

"Then we would have been riding well into nightfall. Besides, this is decent spot for a single night and then  _tomorrow_ we can stay go to the village after we stop by Caer Bronach for a spell. You will have your bath soon enough, Dorian." Yevan drawled, smirking smugly. _  
_

"Yes, that's what I thought. Though you three could certainly use it more than I can." He added with playful disgust, waving at the three of them dismissively. Sera laughed and nodded in agreement, tending to the food on the fire, beginning to chat nonsensically to anyone that was listening. Dorian was the only one who seemed willing to humour the woman, the two chatting over the fire. 

Yeva turned his head and looked beside him, Cassandra gone from the spot she'd been occupying beside him. His brows furrowed a tad and he sat up, looking around. All three tents were wide open so she wasn't sleeping, nor was she anywhere near the fire. He looked over his shoulder towards the river and saw her seat beside it, cleaning off her sword quietly. Lavellan glanced back at Dorian and Sera, finding them both to be pleasantly distracted enough that he could leave the area without it being noticed.

The Inquisitor stood and strolled over to where Cassandra was tenderly cleaning her blade, going and sitting on a rock beside her to watch intently, hunched forward to rest his elbows against his knees.

"I was wondering where you'd run off to." He mused, the makings of a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. She glanced at him for a moment before looking back to her blade.

"I couldn't leave this to gather without a cleaning." Cassandra said simply, drying it with a cloth.

"It  _is_ a nice blade." He agreed, shrugging, tilting his head and looking at her. The blade in her hands and shield she carried he'd personally commissioned Harritt to make it for her, customised completely to suit her strengths in battle. Not that it mattered, really. He _had_ done the same for everyone else, after all. 

"Indeed it is." Cassandra nodded, making sure it was cleaned to her liking before gently putting it inside the sheath, setting it across her lap. Yevan nodded and just looked at her for a spell, admiring her features silently.

"Cassandra," He sat up properly, the Seeker turning to look at him, brows raised a tad in questioning. 

"I wanted to ask..." He started, meeting her gaze and falling silent.

"You wanted to ask what, Inquisitor?" She stated after a moment of silence between them, Yevan looking away coolly to admire the river in the moonlight.

"What you thought about..." He said slowly, looking at her with a playful smirk that made her roll her eyes. He'd sought out her council so often that he'd started to turn it into a game between them since they got to Skyhold.

"You always do this." She sighed, Yevan grinning at her.

Sera called them over when supper was finished cooking, the Seeker standing and taking her sword over, setting it down before sitting to eat, Yevan taking a deep breath before following over. He took his spot and accepted the plate of meat handed to him by Sera, Dorian breaking out a bottle of wine he'd snuck in his own knapsack. 

They all ate contently and chatted, Yevan glancing and looking at Cassandra longer than he rightfully should have, thankful for his chatty companions to make it go unnoticed. The group spoke until the fire was at its very embers, Sera and Dorian both calling it a night and going to their designated tents for much needed sleep. Cassandra stayed behind to clean up, Yevan adding more wood to the fire.

"You can go ahead and sleep, Cassandra. I'll take the first watch." The Inquisitor suggested, smiling at her as friendly as he could muster. Cassandra looked at him for a moment, shifting on the spot. 

"I'd be fine with taking the first watch, Inquisitor. You need your rest--"

"As do you," He interrupted, gesturing to the tent. "I'll be fine, we'll all be resting tomorrow at Caer Bronach anyways."

Cassandra's shoulders and chest rose as she inhaled deeply before letting out a sharp sigh, giving a firm nod. "As you wish." She murmured, thanking him. She pulled back the tent flaps and disappeared inside, closing them shut behind her.

Yevan shook his head, strolling over and taking his spot by the fire for watch, following Cassandra's example and cleaning off his daggers. He set them aside and stretched out his legs, leaning back on his hands and looking at the river again for a moment, his gaze straying towards the tent the Seeker had retreated into. 

Things had changed between them since he'd convinced Varric to write that chapter for that awful serial for her. She'd become rather shy around him, as well as hyper aware of his flirtations with people. He had been flirting relentlessly with Josephine before they left for Crestwood and he suspected that he would do exactly that and return. He was starting to feel something for the Seeker and he was not comfortable with it, whatever it was. It would just complicate things between them and they had only just become friendly with each other after arriving at Skyhold. He opted for a relationship with Josephine instead. She was interested and would probably be a smart idea. Her innocence would hopefully slow him down and endear him enough to forget about Cassandra—or so he was hoping. 

Whatever feelings he had started to develop for her, he wished for them to go away.


	6. Potion

po·tion  
ˈpōSH(ə)n/  
noun  
_a liquid with healing, magical, or poisonous properties._

 

Cassandra stamped her foot onto the abdomen of a dead bandit, gripping her sword tightly and pulling with all her might, dislodging her sword from where it was stuck within the armour and rib cage of the dead man. Iron Bull stalked around the field of the dead bandits, putting his axe in heads that were not yet dead, Vivienne using her healing magic on herself before tailing Bull to heal him as well. The Inquisitor took it upon himself to scavenge around and loot corpses for money and other items that would be of use. 

The lady Seeker stepped back, pressing a hand to her bleeding side to assess the damage. She sighed, re-sheathing her sword with great pain before going over to where she'd dropped her shield, sitting down beside it and leaning against a rock.

She watched Iron Bull roam the field with Vivienne in tow, her voice carrying over the distance so Cassandra could vaguely make out their conversation. She carefully undid the straps around her waist and lifted them to look at her injury, swearing under her breath.

"Are you alright?" Yevan said behind her without any indication of his arrival, Cassandra jumping in surprise with a light gasp. His violet eyes watched her unblinkingly, gaze snapping from her face to her injury. 

"Why didn't you say anything?" He murmured, moving around to kneel beside her, handing her a full vial of their very limited healing potions. Cassandra held up her hand, pushing back the potion. 

"I will be fine, Inquisitor." She said through gritted teeth, Yevan raising a slender brow.

"Cassandra, Vivienne's healing magic  _is_ proficient, yes, but it will do little to knit together a gash that deep. You need this more than any of us." He insisted, pushing the potion into her hands. She furrowed her brows, looking at him skeptically, pursing her lips tightly.

"Are you certain you are not in need of it?" She said slowly, Yevan raising both brows and giving an equally as slow nod.

"I'll be fine. I'm far more concerned about you, anyways." He drawled, staying knelt beside her. Cassandra sighed heavily and popped the cork off of the vial, glancing up at him for a moment before sipping it, drinking down the entire bottle in one go. She hissed lightly as she felt the potion working through her injury, Yevan pulling out a cloth and handing it to her to clean off the blood before standing up, Cassandra noting him doing so with difficulty. 

Her eyebrows immediately shot up in distress, scrambling to get up. 

"Inquisitor!" She nearly shouted, Yevan looking over his shoulder at her, tilting his head.

"What is it now?" He mused, lips quirking in that smirk of his.

"You are wounded!" She pointed out, gesturing to the particularly nasty gash on his calf, coupled with a few other gashes scattered elsewhere.

"Vivienne can take care of it. I'll live." He drawled, shifting, being sure not to shift on his injured leg. "Besides, it's not as pressing as yours was. You were three second away from having your innards spilling out. This is nothing." He said coolly, brushing off her concern. 

Cassandra shook her head, slowly sitting on a rock. "You wasted our last potion on me." She grumbled, cleaning off the blood. 

"I'd rather it go to you than me." He drawled with a shrug, Bull and Vivienne making their way back over to them, Vivienne gasping lightly and fussing over him with healing magic, Bull helping pull Cassandra to her feet. The Seeker, for her part, was still staring at the Inquisitor in disbelief, looking away when he'd chuckled and grinned at Vivienne.

"We'll get you properly fixed up in town, my dear. A shame there's no remaining potions. That certainly would have stitched this up better." Vivienne said lightly, Yevan waving his hand dismissively. 

"I'll live. We should get going." He said, everyone agreeing and heading for their horses, Cassandra still looking at him in disbelief. She fully intended on giving him an earful when they were in town for his foolishness. 


	7. Element

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i haven't done this in literal months but i'll tell ya what: i got an excuse  
> you see i was without a pc for a good month and a half and here i am, returned and renewed with a pc to update  
> also, due to some changes in characterisation and shit, i redid the first few chapters a bit. i fully intend on finishing this thing

 

el·e·ment  
ˈeləmənt  
_noun  
_ 1. a part or aspect of something abstract, especially one that is essential or characteristic.

 

 

The closing of the Breach was a success and Haven celebrated the patching-up of the sky. Bonfires were lit and people were dancing, music playing and ale being ushered about for party goers.

The Herald himself wasn't partaking in the festivities, as shocking as that was. Instead, he watched from the edge near the Chantry building, foot propped up on a rock so he could  rest his forearm against his knee, a tankard of ale in his free hand. Good news as it was that the Breach was closed, he was dog-tired. Using the Mark exhausted him greatly, after all. He figured he'd finish his ale and call it a night, maybe plan his return to his clan in the morning. 

Shaking his head, Yevan took another sip from his tankard. He would focus on all of that in the morning. Right now, he deserved to bask in the joyful celebrations of Haven's people.

Footsteps approached him in the snow and he knew who it was before they spoke, looking over his shoulder partially, smirking.

"Enjoying the festivities?" Cassandra drawled, strolling up beside him and looking up at him.

"You could say that. I'm not one for dancing. Or the shemlen equivalent. Looks more like flailing to me." He mused, sipping his ale. Cassandra cracked a smile at that.

"And I suppose you Dalish are better?" 

"My clan is, at least. If you think this is celebrating, you should see my clan." Yevan drawled, lowering the tankard. They both fell quiet, looking at the bonfires intently.

"Are you going to return to them?" Cassandra asked, Yevan turning his head and looking at her.

"My clan? Yes... But I figured I would worry about that later. Instead, I'll be amused by the mages lighting fires to their heart's content. Never thought I would see them celebrating..." He murmured, Cassandra humming in agreement.

"Would you have preferred Templars in their place?" She mused, looking at him curiously. Yevan snorted and shook his head.

"No. I don't like either Templars or mages but if I had to choose... Well, I did and you see the outcome." He nodded.

"You've met Templars before?" The Seeker asked. Yevan nodded, leaning off his knee and lowering his leg to stand up straight. 

"Oh, yes. Back in my clan..." He paused for a moment to sip from his tankard. "I had been a hunter, the head one to be exact. Anyways, there was this Templar Knight-Commander who would always go by with a patrol just on the outskirts of our hunting area—a road ran down that way that they would travel on. His name was... Shaw, I believe. Big fellow, had one eye. Thickest Ferelden accent in existence. Anyways, the hunters and I used to trade with him occasionally. He bought leather and iron bark, sometimes pelts and metals if we had them on hand."

"That does not sound like a bad encounter with Templars." Cassandra pointed out, Yevan looking up at her and smirking.

"No, I suppose you're right. I've just always been rightfully wary of them, especially Shaw and his crew. I had Leliana do some digging for me on him and nothing's turned up. I can't say I really care, though." He mused, the Seeker nodding.

"What about mages? Why are you wary of them?" She asked, Lavellan raising his brows.

"Oh come now. I've told you more about myself than I've told anyone in Haven and you're prying for more?" He joked, Cassandra mimicking his mannerism and raising her own brows with a hum of derision. Yevan laughed, grinning a bit.

"You're good. I'll tell you, I'll tell you." He paused for another sip. "The same reason anybody is wary of them. Magic is dangerous. It's really that simple." He shrugged, Cassandra simply nodding.

"You have done well, Herald. Solas confirms the Heavens are scarred but calm. The Breach is sealed." She explained, Yevan snorting at the mention of the mage's name, hiding it by sipping his ale. She gave him a look before continuing.

"We've reports of lingering Rifts, and many questions remain, but this was a victory." She looked at him, the corners of her lips upturned in a bit of a smile.

"Word of your heroism has spread." 

"I'm sure they're convinced by stories but imagine how crushed that will be when they meet me in person. I've no heroism, just a Mark and obligation." He drawled, lowering his empty tankard. 

"You give yourself too little credit.  The immediate threat is gone—"

"And my role in this, if I'm not mistaken." He interrupted her, shrugging. Cassandra sighed.

"Not quite. The Inquisition will have a new focus and we must be ready but you are still needed here, Herald. You remain a critical element. Rifts remain and you are the only one with the power to close them." She explained, Yevan pinching his nose bridge but nodding in agreement nonetheless.

"I suppose you're right. I will remain—for you." He joked, giving her a smug smile that made her roll her eyes. Before he could tell her he was being serious, seeing as she was literally insisting on his staying, bells sounded and people were rushing about. Cullen's shouting woke him from his alcohol-laden stupor and he swore, jumping down and rushing towards the gates, Cassandra in tow.

So much for seeing his clan again.


	8. Spirit

 

spir·it  
ˈspirit  
noun  
_3\. strong distilled liquor such as brandy, whiskey, gin, or rum._

 

The tavern in Skyhold was fairly slow that night, the only ruckus being that from the Bull's Chargers having impromptu arm wrestling matches with a group of Inquisition soldiers taking a night off. The barmaids flitted about to bring drinks the large group that had pushed together two large bar tables to create a large enough space for the Iron Bull to wrestle two people at a time. The bard plucked and strummed the strings of her lute, singing a jaunty tune for them to arm wrestle to.

Cabot watched them wrestle with narrowed eyes, huffing and grunting under his breath about them breaking tables, only turning his gaze away to refill the tankard of the only patron seated right at his bar. 

The Inquisitor had made an attempt to go incognito to the bar for some much needed drinks, not wanting to draw attention to himself as he usually loved to do when he stopped by the tavern. He huddled around his tankard of ale, drawling a thanks to the Cabot when he refilled it once again, watching the elf with a critical look. 

"It's not my business to pry but it's not every day the Inquisitor comes in here to drink himself into a stupor alone. Is there something on your mind?" The bartender gruffed in a low voice to him, Yevan raising a brow at him and bringing the tankard to his lips for a long drought before lowering it.

"I won't mind your prying if you don't mind me not sharing." He stated rather rudely, eyes staying firmly fixed on the rim of his tankard. Cabot raised his hands in the air and stepped back, going back to watching the Chargers intently.

Yevan huffed, bringing his free hand up to massage his forehead, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to clear his head. There had been very few breaks in between having to travel back and forth between Crestwood and Skyhold while they searched for Hawke and his Warden friend. They had only just arrived back at Skyhold a week ago after their most recent expedition out to Crestwood finally unveiled Hawke and the Warden. They had very little time to rest and prepare for a journey back and Yevan had took the time off to aid Josephine's little venture in Val Royeaux. She had told him of the assassination contract a week before they were scheduled to leave for Crestwood the first time and he assisted her on it in between the travelings between Skyhold and Crestwood. 

He had only arrived back at Skyhold from Val Royeaux two days prior and had managed to ruin everything between them in one fell swoop. He wanted to blame Leliana for interfering and watering the seed of doubt already lodged deep within his heart. He wanted desperately to believed he wanted something with Josephine but it wasn't fair to her in the least that he was forcing affection to distract himself from, well, everything. Yevan had been upfront about it, having let her down gently only hours before he decided to drown himself in ale. Rather than telling her the truth and confessing his conflicted emotions, he opted for the route where he pretended to care about rumours and 'worried they were getting too close'. 

Even just remembering the pathetic things that he had spouted just hours ago left an awful taste in his mouth. It had been innocent flirtation at first (even if all of it had gone unnoticed by the Ambassador) that had turned to something serious and he'd single-handedly managed to break Josephine's heart due to his own idiocy and conflict. 

The elf smacked the heel of his hand lightly to his forehead and shook his head, tossing back the contents of his tankard. He knew Josephine would remain professional and not let what had occurred between them distract them from the work on hand. Yevan was actually more concerned about what Leliana would do once she discovered he'd crushed poor Josie's heart. Any punishment he could possibly imagine that she would dish out couldn't compare to the reality of what she may do. The thought alone made him cross his legs instinctively. 

He set the tankard down, Cabot snatching it up and going to refill it, Yevan thanking him dryly and accepting it once the bartender had returned. He took a slow sip, slumping against the bar counter now. 

"Do you have anything stronger than ale?" Yevan grunted, setting down his tankard. Cabot looked to him, cleaning a tankard with a rag. He stared before setting aside the tankard, putting the rag over his shoulder. 

"Sure. Got rye, brandy..." He shrugged a shoulder. "How strong do you want it?"

"Enough to forget my name until morning." He murmured, sitting up proper to chug what remained of his ale in one go, Cabot giving him a look before turning to get him something stronger as requested. Lavellan set aside the empty tankard when he'd finished in a surprisingly dainty manner, the bartender passing him another tankard.

"Take it slow there with that. It'll burn right through you." Cabot warned, taking the abandoned tankard and setting it aside to clean it, Yevan snorting, sniffing the beverage curiously. He shrugged and didn't bother questioning what was given to him, taking a swig. Whether or not it burned on the way down was unknown to him, Yevan not caring enough to pay attention or even notice. His head was swimming within a few sips, pleasantly losing all trains of thought. 

"Better?" The dwarf gruffed, the elf giving a simple nod. He stood with ease, surprisingly, taking his tankard and meandering over towards the chairs by the windows behind the staircase, occupying the spot where the Iron Bull could typically be found when he wasn't breaking wrists in arm wrestling matches. The sun hadn't quite yet set, the setting rays spilling in through the glass and illuminating that side of the bar in a hazy light. Yevan sipped his beverage slowly, craning his neck to peak out the windows at the training dummies he knew were still set up. 

He caught only a glimpse of the Seeker as she slipped her sword back into the sheath, stance immaculate with her shoulders back and head held high, jaw tightened a tad and her chest heaving visibly only slightly from the exertion of attacking the dummies. The fading light caught in her dark hair, glistening on the thin sheen of sweat visible on her brow that was wiped away with the back of a gloved wrist. She turned and reset the dummies as she did each evening, examining them before turning away, her gaze sweeping across the bar windows. 

He had stopped drinking when he saw her, amusing the idea that for a moment, she may have seen him. He knew she didn't, of course, but he could pretend. The alcohol would allow him to do so. He sunk back against the seat, watching her retreating back leave her post at the training dummies, waiting until he couldn't see her before looking away, bringing the tankard back to his lips and taking a deep sip until his head was spinning and he didn't care about anything anymore. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so yevan was intended to be a huge flirt with everyone and, in the process, he ended up ruining a precious antivian peach because he's just generally shitty basically having to break up with josie was the worst part of my playthrough


	9. Fear

fear  
ˈfir  
noun  
_1_ _. a feeling of anxiety concerning the outcome of something or the safety and well-being of someone._

 

The snow was coming down hard and fast on the retreating people, soldiers lagging behind to help people walk through the snow, some of the injured having to be carried. The cold bit through everything they were wearing, the fleeing people of Haven shivering collectively as they moved as fast as they could through the snow down the path Roderick had given them. Their sole motivator was living and the ever-present danger of Corypheus' armies still lurking about. 

Cassandra helped an injured man regain his footing, still looking behind them, squinting against the snow for a shape, a sign— _anything_. She'd stayed behind when the Herald asked for her to, along with the company of the Iron Bull and Sera. They'd managed to load the last trebuchet and then the Herald told them to run and catch up with Cullen and the others. 

 _"I'll meet you there  after I take care of this. Get out while you still can."_ He said before Corypheus and his Archdemon descended upon them. She'd heard what Cullen had said, Yevan had spoke of giving his life if it meant others could escape.

And it infuriated her. 

Was the elf truly so self-righteous that he would give his life to safe others? When she saw him again, she would throttle him for it. 

She reluctantly accepted a blanket and draped it over her shoulders, getting as close to the lit fire as she could, the Inquisition having set up a momentary camp so they could rest for a spell. The Seeker remained vigilant, staying by the fire long enough to regain the feeling in her fingers before moving alone to allow the injured more access to warmth. She pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders, walking the perimeter of their campsite, keeping an eye out for some sign. It had been hours since she'd last seen Lavellan at the trebuchet but with all the waiting and traveling, it had felt like years. 

Cassandra was made to sit down when The Iron Bull caught her pacing, inviting her to take a load off. She tentatively accepted, sitting with him and his Chargers, her eyes still searching for their Herald.

"Give it time, Seeker. We've pushed back quite some distance twice already so he's probably just gotta catch up. He's a tenacious little shit, he'll pull through." Bull rumbled to her reassuringly, Cassandra simply nodding. 

"We all would like for him to return, Bull. One of us should be keeping an eye out in case he is coming through the snow—"

"We're  _all_  looking. We're all watching and waiting. Trust me." The mercenary interrupted her, Cassandra looking up at him. It was true, however. All eyes were glancing from where they had traveled from, Leliana sending out teams of scouts for quick reconnaissance operations every hour. Cullen had groups of soldiers scout the perimeter as well. 

She shifted uncomfortably, looking away to look at her gloved hands, rubbing them together. 

"Are you not cold with no shirt on?" Cassandra asked, looking up at him. The Iron Bull smirked, his Chargers snickering behind their hands.

"No, no—not at all." Iron Bull mused, Krem snorting a laugh. 

"Yeah right, Chief. Your nipples are so hard from the cold, they could cut glass." He laughed, Bull elbowing him in the ribs as a playful warning. 

"I'll do just fine. The cold doesn't bother me." The mercenary reassured Cassandra, the Seeker having quirked a bit of a smile at the joke. 

"Of course." Cassandra murmured, wringing her hands on her lap and turning her head to, once again, search.

They remained on the campsite until Leliana's scouts and Cullen's patrol had returned bearing no news. Regretfully, they had to move on and find shelter from the storm. They packed up everything they could before pushing forward through the storm until they had reached a level enough spot to set up camp, the storm settling down and not reaching their new site. 

She could not be held back now, passing her blanket on to someone who needed it and marching out to search the area herself once the tents were set up. Cullen and a few others had joined in the search, Leliana still sending scouts out for recon. The hours ticked by slowly and soon, no one was glancing back for a sign of the Herald. An unsettling aura clouded around and suffocated the camp, many just giving up and going to rest. 

Cassandra would not give in the hopelessness permeating the air and threatening to drag her under. She refused to. He had given his word that he would see them again, that he would return to them once he launched the trebuchet. He was just taking his time to stress and worry everyone to have a grand entrance. He had to be.

A dark, curling feeling settled in her gut—one she had not felt since the day the Breach appeared in the sky and threatened to swallow the world. It spread from her gut to her limbs, causing her knees to shake from more than the cold, her feet to stumble from more than exhaustion. Her hands tightening into fists that trembled with unease, shoulders raising in a defensive fashion. She felt it pool in her throat and steal her voice, coil behind her eyes and make them burn. The nagging feeling in the back of her skull tightened to a slow steady reminder, like water dripping from a slope of a roof after a rain. It gripped her and consumed her, freezing her legs as she took a moment to assess what she was feeling.

It was fear. Fear burned through her, settling into a doubt and giving way to a frustration born of mourning. She feared he may have been killed. She feared Lavellan may have gotten lost in the snow. She feared he had lied to her about returning.

 


	10. Winter

 

win·ter  
ˈwin(t)ər  
noun  
_1\. the coldest season of the year, in the northern hemisphere from December to February and in the southern hemisphere from June to August._

 

"I cannot  _believe_ you would do this to me— _again_. Every time you miserable people decide to go somewhere where there's ice on the ground, you drag  _me_ along." Dorian complained from the back of their four person team.

"Oh,  _come on_ , it's not all bad, Pavus. Besides, the paths aren't buried in snow. You'll live." The inquisitor mused, looking over his shoulder to smirk at the Tevinter mage, earning little more than a half-hearted scowl.

"Oh, sure, I'll  _live._ But at what cost? You know, it doesn't get cold like this in Tevinter. You owe a very warm bath and expensive liquor when we return to Skyhold." Dorian snapped back, pulling his cloak around him tighter as if the cold was biting through his clothing—which was unlikely given the lack of wind currently. 

"Take it up with Ruffles, I'm sure she'd love to indulge your request." Varric said gruffly from below, Yevan giving a light laugh from up ahead, looking around the area curiously. They had been in Emprise du Lion for little more than two days and it had been full of nothing but complaints and getting lost.

"I believe they had said a Rift was just up this path but I fear we've been walking in circles." Cassandra said lightly, looking at Yevan. He turned to look at her, the seriousness that had been in his expression giving way to the adoring smile he always gave her. 

"Perhaps we should check the map. We have Rifts to close  _and_ a mine to find." He drawled, turning to her. She nodded, pulling out the map and unrolling it, laying it out on the ground and setting rocks on the corners to keep it open. The group studied it silently for a moment before Dorian made a dramatic noise of anguish, turning his face away and covering his forehead.

"We've back-tracked completely! How in the world did we manage to get so completely lost?" He said in an exasperated tone of voice, Yevan the only one laughing. 

"I believe we got turned around here." Lavellan murmured, reaching over and circling a spot on the map with his finger. 

"If we cut down that way, we should make it back to the camp."

"You mean the camp we've just left from! How do I put up with you people?" Dorian huffed, shaking his head, keeping his face turned away from them. 

"Or, we could push through to the Tower, which is surely occupied by more Red Templars." Cassandra suggested, looking at Yevan for his input. He hummed and nodded, looking at the map before looking around. 

"In that case, we cut directly that way. But, the Rift we were supposed to close today is that way," He pointed ahead after glancing at the map. "So we could close that and turn around back to camp and save the Tower of Bone for tomorrow when we're mentally ready to handle it. What do you think, Dorian?" He mused, looking up at the mage. Dorian huffed, his nose in the air still.

"We could certainly do that. I'd like a break from killing Red Templars for today. We just cleared out a camp of them before you went and got us lost." He quipped playfully, Yevan grinning. 

"Good. Besides, the scouts and troops should've occupied that camp by now. They were just barely taking over before we left. It's settled then, yes?" He asked, looking at his companions.

"Rift first then camp and onto the Red Templars tomorrow? I'd say it's settled enough." Varric agreed, uncrossing his arms. 

"Marvelous! Now let's get moving. The faster we close that damned Rift, the faster we can return to camp and I can remember what being warm is." Dorian drawled, walking ahead, the dwarf in tow. Yevan pushed the rocks off the corners of the map and rolled it up, turning to Cassandra and handing it to her. She accepted it, tucking it back into place, raising a brow at the look he was giving her.

"What is it?" She murmured, brows furrowing a bit defensively. He just smiled at her and shook his head, reaching over and gently taking one of her hands in his. 

"Surely you must know how beautiful you look in the snow." He mused, Cassandra rolling her eyes despite the blush on her cheeks. 

"Always with the flattery. How will we get anything done?" She murmured, the corners of her lips quirking into a bit of a smile. 

"You tell me. I was so distracted by your radiance, I got us lost." Yevan grinned, intertwining his fingers between hers. She squeezed his hand lightly as a sign of affection, lowering her gaze as she smiled a bit broader.

"You've been reading too much poetry." She quipped, looking up at him.

"I've only you to blame. I'd even write you some ridiculous, wordy piece if it gets you smiling like that more often." That made her laugh lightly, shaking her head and turning her smile to him rather than the ground.

"I do not think you can write that well." She murmured, Yevan chuckling and taking her other hand in his. 

"I'm better with words than you give me credit for, emma lath," He drawled, tilting his head while looking at her, a genuine smile gracing his lips. "But, I've always preferred actions." 

"So I've noticed." Cassandra added lightly, stepping closer to him. He was just a few inches shorter than her, having to lean up just to kiss her. She released  one of his hands to wrap her arm around his shoulders, smiling against his lips when she felt his hand on her lower back. Lavellan released her other hand to gently cradle her jaw against his palm, thumb tenderly stroking her cheekbone and tracing the scar on her jaw. As cold as it was outside, she always felt warmer in his arms.

"Hey, lovebirds!" Varric's shouting interrupted their moment, Yevan looking positively annoyed as he pulled back and looked over his shoulder at the dwarf.

"We've got a Rift to close. You can do all that and more once it's closed." Varric called, looking positively amused, Dorian grinning in equal amusement just behind him.

"Oh, what? Can't close it on your own?" Yevan mused, turning back to Cassandra and giving her a quick peck on the lips before pulling back, taking her hand again. She smiled at him, squeezing his hand and letting him lead her towards their companions.

 


	11. Rain

rain  
rān  
noun  
_1\. moisture condensed from the atmosphere that falls visibly in separate drops._

 

Cassandra rolled over, the fine, Orlesian silk blankets tangling around her legs and clinging to her skin. It was warm and comfortable in the massive bed, a ridiculously gaudy thing sent from Val Royeaux that Lavellan laughed at but seemed to adore. She much preferred it to her own bed, even more so when the elf was in bed with her.

Her eyes slowly fluttered open, the spot in bed beside her empty. She sat up a tad, brows furrowing at the vacant side of the bed. She had been sleeping peacefully, wrapped in his embrace. Perhaps the absence of it was why she woke in the first place.

“Yevan?” She murmured softly, looking around his extravagant quarters. She relaxed when she saw him leaning against the doorway to the balcony dressed in only his trousers, looking over his shoulder at her with a bit of a smirk.

“Did I wake you, ma vhenan?” He drawled, dipping his head to the side in that questioning fashion of his.

“Not exactly.” Cassandra murmured, gathering the silk blanket into her arms and wrapping it around her bare body before rising from the ridiculous bed, walking towards him. He uncrossed his arms, reaching out and settling his arm around her waist when she was close enough. Lavellan smiled at her before looking back at the sky with intrigue.

“It’s going to rain.” He mused, a hint of excitement in his voice that made the corners of Cassandra’s mouth tug into a little smile.

“Please do not tell me you are going to run out into the rain and mud again.” She teased lightly, gently wrapping both of her arms around his slim waist, Yevan giving a little laugh.

“No, not this time. I got such an earful from Vivienne about my ‘actions not reflecting my title’. I’d rather avoid that.” He turned his smile back to her, Cassandra resting her chin against his shoulder.

“I do not understand your infatuation with storms, my love.” The Seeker murmured, looking at him curiously, waiting for him to explain. Yevan turned his head to look at her, raising a slender brow.

“They’re a welcomed thing. I find them relaxing. In truth, they make me a bit homesick.” He murmured, the corner of his lips quirking into a smirk.

“Did your clan celebrate storms?” She asked, genuinely curious. The question made him laugh, smirk giving way to a grin.

“Sometimes, but only if the storm was good. Light rain was always welcomed whereas heavy rain threatened the possibility of a flood and that was never a good thing for us. But I liked all of the storms, bad and good. Something about the sound and smell of it is just…” He trailed off, shrugging the shoulder Cassandra wasn’t leaning on.

“Relaxing.” She added, lightly massaging his lower back with her palm. He hummed contently, leaning his head against hers and closing his eyes.

“Yes. Almost as relaxing as you but _not quite_.” He drawled softly, Cassandra nodding a tad, looking at the sky.

The first droplets landed lightly on the stone of the balcony, the stone turning darker with each droplet that landed. She watched intently, knowing Yevan was also watching with a smirk on his face.

“That’s more like it. I can sleep to this.” He mused, leaning his head off of hers and turning to her. She smiled at him, releasing her hold on him to clutch at the silk blanket covering her body to keep it from falling.

“Good. We both need rest, there’s work to do tomorrow.” She murmured, watching Yevan reach up, running his knuckles lightly over the curve of her cheek bone, sighing heavily.

“Don’t remind me. The only work I want to be doing is _you_.” He stated with a chuckle, Cassandra rolling her eyes playfully. She turned her head to tenderly kiss his wrist, clutching the blanket with one hand to reach up and cover his hand with her own. She lowered their hands, holding his gently and dragging him with her back to bed.

“You know, you should wear gold more often. It suits you.” Yevan mused, kissing her knuckles before releasing her hand and rolling onto his side of the bed. Cassandra gave him a look, unraveling the blanket from around her body and setting it back on the bed, his brows raising.

“Or nothing at all. That’s even better.” He added, accepting her into his arms and pressing his lips to the crown of her head while she covered them in the silk blanket. She draped her arm over his chest, feeling one of his arms curl around her shoulders and holding her close. He covered her hand with his, fingers gently curling over hers.

Cassandra closed her eyes and smiled softly, Yevan’s head leaning against hers. The dull thud of rain lightly hitting against the roof and windows lulled them to sleep.


	12. Clouds

cloud  
kloud  
noun  
plural noun: clouds  
 _1. a visible mass of condensed water vapor floating in the atmosphere, typically high above the ground._

 

"You are quite distracting, you know." Cassandra murmured, lowering her sword with a bit of a smile, turning to her source of distraction. Yevan grinned at her, crossing his arms and stepping towards her.

"You just looked like you needed a break." He mused in return, watching her slip her sword back into its sheathe, clasping her hands lightly in front of her. 

"How kind of you to notice. What do you have in mind?" She asked, tilting her head.

"Talk a walk with me. I've set something up." He waggled his brows suggestively, Cassandra shaking her head. 

"Lead the way, Lord Inquisitor." She drawled, making him chuckle and uncross his arms, walking with her passed the gates and towards the hidden grove that he had led her to once before.

"No candles this time? Flowers? You disappoint me." Cassandra mused, smiling when he laughed like she knew he would.

"Oh, no. I figured we could save that for later." Yevan retorted with a smirk, reaching out and taking her hand, leading her over a spot in the grass where he'd laid out a blanket for them to sit on. He released her hand to sit down, looking up at her and patting the spot beside him, giving her a smile. Cassandra took off her sword and set it aside, sitting down beside him and scooting close, raising her brows when he leaned back. She leaned back to lay against the blanket as well, scooting up to lay her head against his shoulder, feeling his hand stroking her back.

He crossed his legs at the ankle and stretched happily, tucking his free arm under his head and looking at the sky serenely. 

"It's lovely to get away from everything for a while. Don't you think?" He murmured, turning his head to look at her. She nodded, turning to rest her chin against his chest, looking at him with a bit of a smile. 

"With you? Always. Though I feel as though we are constantly getting away from everything." She added, Yevan giving a bit of a grin and a chuckle, leaning back to look at the sky. 

"It's a favourite pastime of mine." He murmured, hugging her close and leaning over to kiss her forehead. Cassandra closed her eyes and relaxed against him, letting her worries be forgotten. He was very talented at helping her relax and unwind, something of which she needed often.

They were quiet for a spell, Cassandra nearly falling asleep against his shoulder, lulled by the steady sound of his breathing and light breezes that cascaded over them. Yevan remained awake, watching the clouds float by peacefully, content to just exist in the same space as Cassandra. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fuck this prompt it took me so long to figure out what to do and i still have no idea


	13. Trapped

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for convenience sakes i switched 13 and 14 around on the initial list  
> yeah

trap  
trap  
verb  
past tense: trapped; past participle: trapped  
_1\. prevent (someone) from escaping from a place_

 

When Yevan came to, he found himself to be underground and covered in snow and debris. He swore, every inch of him sore and in pain, the heavy shemlen armour he was wearing having banged him up pretty badly in his fall. He looked around him to try and get a sense of his surroundings, bleary vision slowly clearing as he blinked a few times. He looked above him and saw nothing but snow, some of spilling downward towards him. 

His limbs screamed in protest as he crawled away from the opening, looking around him. It looked to be some kind of old mining area but he wasn't certain. He was just surprised to be alive. It was laughable now, thinking how he had run headfirst into battle while everyone else escape fully ready to die. It was truly a miracle he hadn't. 

Lavellan sighed, pulling himself to stand with a hiss of pain, pressing a hand to the metal plated chest piece he worse, his torso aching beneath it. His left arm burned again, much like how it had when he'd first woken up in the clutches of the Inquisition. He looked at it, the faint green glow mocking him, making him shake his hand and look away. 

Well, he was alive. It was a start but he was also painfully lost, on top of being seriously injured and fatigued. 

He walked slowly, a heavy limp to his step, his right leg screaming in pain anytime he put too much weight on it. He reached out with his free hand to touch the icy walls within the abandoned mine, using the surface to steady himself. The cold began to numb the pain in his chest and arm, Yevan not finding comfort in being able to see each breath or how the cold clung to his metal armour and seeped into his bones. He was shivering violently now, managing to get a bit of a quicker stride as he wandered down the shaft. 

It almost seemed endless, each step harder to take than the one before it, the tunnel not seeming to get any shorter. 

Was he really going to die in here? Some frozen pit in  _Ferelden_? Of all the ways he'd imagined himself going out, freezing to death under the now-buried Haven was certainly not the outcome he expected.

" _Shit_." He grunted, teeth chattering as the cold wracked his entire body, making him stumble. He gripped at the iced over wall for purchase and only slipped, falling the ground with a pained groan. He swore several times under his breath, forcing himself back onto his feet.

He'd promised his team he'd get out of this and see them again. He could handle disappointing Sera and Iron Bull, two people he'd learned had no expectations from him--something he found  _so much_ comfort in. But to disappoint Cassandra? He doubted he could bear it. They had only now started getting along and he would ruin what was surely to be a delightful friendship by  _freezing to death_.

The elf pulled himself, forcing himself to find a calm, trying to be optimistic. Surely there was a way out of this frozen crypt. There had  to be. It couldn't end like this--he wouldn't allow it, and neither would his team. He took a deep breath, a feat in and of itself given how badly he was shivering, and let out a slow exhale, focusing on his heart beat to keep himself grounded. 

After several minutes of finding his center, Yevan opened his eyes and pushed forward, squinting in the cavern in search of an exit of some kind.

His eyes lit up when he  _finally_ spotted light, brows shooting up and a grin of relief crossing his lips. The pain in his leg long frozen away to be ignored, he started off at a run. The bright green light and deafening sound of a Rift tearing open caused him to skid and slide, slipping and hitting his back on the ice. He groaned and shouted a  _"Fuck!"_ , slamming his fist into the ice and pulling himself to his knees, eyes going wide as he watched the demons materialize. 

It was just never easy, was it?

He hissed when his hand sparked with light in response, furrowing his brows and looking at it curiously. It was glowing the same way in did when he closed Rifts, a burning  feeling abandoned for the sensation of light prickles in the center of his palm and fingertips, a warm and non-unpleasant feeling in the wake of the green flames that engulfed his arm. Yevan looked between his palm and the demons before him, trusting his hand towards them in the same action he did when closing Rifts.

It was worth a shot.

He squeezed his eyes shut so he wouldn't have to watch himself inevitably fail. 

Luck was on his side when he heard the tell-tale sounds of the Rift sealing, demons shrieking as the Mark ruined their materializing and shredded them to pieces, sucking them back into the Fade. The Rift--it was more like a tear--sealed up shut, sending Yevan reeling back onto the ice with the impact. He hit the ice and had the wind knocked out of him, looking at his left hand and watching the Mark fade beneath his glove. 

He started laughing in relief, panting heavily from the adrenaline that had overwhelmed him moments before. The damn blemish was good for things, it appeared. He was grateful, though he still loathed it greatly. Lavellan rolled off his back and got up, the adrenaline keeping him mobile for the time being, pushing himself forward to run straight for the light. 

As he got closer, he slowed down from his sprint, sighing heavily as he watched the snow storm blow by his only exit. 


	14. Snow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> continuation of ch 13

snow  
snō  
noun  
_1\. atmospheric water vapor frozen into ice crystals and falling in light white flakes or lying on the ground as a white layer._

 

There  _would_ be a snow storm at a time like this.

Of course, there would be.

With the way his luck was going, Lavellan was lucky to  _only_ have a blizzard between him and safety. 

He wondered if he could wait it out in the mouth of the cave. It would settle down and he could find the Inquisition easier and not risk his life wandering blind through a snow storm. He decided to do that, sitting down on the icy ground and watching the snow blow by in boredom.

He wasn't sure how long he sat there, watching the storm in his admittedly feeble attempt to wait it out but he couldn't wait any longer. He was tired, nearly falling asleep against the icy wall. Yevan smacked his cheeks lightly to wake himself up, pulling himself to stand. He had to pull through the storm. They couldn't be that far away in this storm. He was hoping, at least. It was all he had now.

Yevan took a deep breath and swore, raising his arm to shield his eyes as he stepped out from the icy mine and into the storm. The snow reached his knees, the strong wind nearly knocking him over into an snow-covered grave. The elf cursed, his violent shivering worsening as he waded through the snow, each step harder to take than the one before it. The snow ripped through his attire, freezing onto the metal plated armour covering his torso, ice sticking to the leather of his gloves and boots. He blinked rapidly to rid of the flakes sticking to his lashes, squinting against the blinding white of the storm. 

Of all the foolish, thrown together plans he'd ever conceived, this was by far the winner.

He gave a laugh that devolved into fierce chattering of his teeth and a desperate, shaky inhale. He kept his eyes downcast to watch his feet struggle, dragging himself through the snow. The cold numbed every inch of him, eating away at his fiery determination gradually. Yevan did his best to keep rational thoughts going through his mind, encouraging things that would keep him going.

One step.

If he died out here, he'd never get a glass of that delightful Antivian wine Josephine had promised. 

Another step.

If he died out here, he would never play Varric at that game of Wicked Grace they'd been talking about.

Two more steps.

How would he see his clan again, his beloved baby sister especially, if he died out here in the cold?

Three more steps.

He wouldn't get to develop his friendship with Cassandra if the cold took him.

That thought bugged him the most, Yevan gritting his teeth and plowing through the snow, looking ahead to make sure he was still moving perpendicular to the tree line. Sharp eyes kept a look out for any signs that the Inquisition had passed through this way, seeing nothing but the blinding whiteness of the storm before him. He swore, pushing himself further, no longer able to feel his legs. 

Six bold steps through the snow later, he saw something. Determination exploded through every inch of him, forcing himself to hurry towards what he could see. It was what had previously been a camp fire, long dead and cold like he was surely to end up. He examined it curiously regardless for anything, finding nothing to work off of but a misguided sense of hope. 

At least it meant the Inquisition had gone this way. He wasn't wandering in the cold  _completely_ lost. 

Yevan kept that optimism close to his heart, pushing through the snow the same way he'd been walking previous. He ran the lines to that ridiculous song about bottles of beer on a wall that Iron Bull had sang at the tavern while consuming copious amounts of alcohol through his head as he pushed forward, glad to have something to focus on while he continued through the frozen Hell.

He'd made it to seventy-six bottles when he heard the distinct cry of wolves over the howl of the wind, stopping in his tracks and looking around, fear in his gut. 

Great, so he would either freeze to death in a snow storm _or_ get mauled by wolves. Things were certainly looking up.

The storm, at least, was beginning to slow down a bit, making visibility possible at long last. That he was, at least, grateful for. One silver lining to this atrocious nightmare of a journey. 

He sighed heavily, resuming his count of beer bottles where he'd left off, weak legs slowing in their steps, stumbling in the snow every now and then. He was so  _exhausted_. Every inch of him was frozen and worn down. He wanted so desperately to just lay down and rest until he could move again but knew, rationally, there was no way he could do that. Still, the desire lingered in the forefront of his thoughts, causing him to miscount the number of beer bottles on the wall numerous times.

Yevan looked up and around again for more signs, still greeted with the same never-ending whiteness of the snow and blurry darkness of the treeline. Pessimism clouded his judgement now, causing his determined steps to slow down and stumble some more.

It was pointless, forcing himself to trek through the snow this way. The Inquisition probably wasn't even down this way. The campfire could be weeks old and just a coincidence. Maybe the Inquisition had already been found and overwhelmed by Corypheus' soldiers and he was heading for nothing. What was he even fighting for now? 

Lavellan glanced up to see where he was at, seeing another abandoned campfire not too far off. He tried to walk faster, his shivering worsening as he got closer, entire body beginning to give up on his venture.

It took him quite a while to get to it, examining it. He was surprised to find actual embers still lingering in the fire, giving a small spark of hope in his cold, tired body. He looked up and took a deep breath, steps staggering as he moved at a snail's pace passed the abandoned camp fire. Each step pained him, the numbness of his limbs now causing him nothing by agony. His shivering was impossible at that point, affecting the steadiness of his breathing. The edges of his vision were growing fuzzy and black, his body refusing to meet the demands of his determination.

He was  _so_ close. 

Yevan pulled himself up a snowy slope and could vaguely make out the shapes of tent, the warm light of fires going. He went to take another step and his legs finally gave out from under him. He collapsed in the snow, his shivering increasing now that he was lying on the snow. 

His vision blurred heavily and began to fade out, barely able to make out the sets of legs rushing towards him, voices barely audible. Someone grabbed him to lift him up, faces around him out of focus.

All except for one.

Cassandra's face was the last thing he saw before he slipped unconscious. 


	15. Knife

knife  
nīf  
noun  
_1\. an instrument composed of a blade fixed into a handle, used for cutting or as a weapon._

 

Cassandra had come to notice that the Inquisitor did not practice.

She sparred with just about everyone who was willing. Blackwall and the Iron Bull were often her sparring partners--Bull often brought the Chargers along as well. Sera often shot arrows at the training dummies from her little hidey hole in the Tavern, purposely to startle the Seeker when she was lashing out on the dummies. Dorian occasionally took time to himself to practice his own magic on dummies when he wasn't busying himself with those thick volumes he was constantly reading. Vivienne read and learned more on her own, dipping into other subjects when she had the time to hone her craft. Even Solas and Varric could be found occasionally practicing their respected weapons. 

The Inquisitor, however, she never saw hitting dummies or trying to better his skills. Granted, he was deadly enough on the field with his daggers and had received covert training from the assassin Heir but Cassandra never saw him reinforcing that training during down time at Skyhold. He was either in the tavern being the rambunctious and deplorable man he was or skillfully playing diplomat in the war room. Never once did he pick up his daggers in Skyhold.

She figured he may need a formal invitation to spar. What harm could there be in asking him if he wanted to spar for awhile? They were still on downtime while the Inquisition's forces were building up for the siege on Adament which meant nothing pressing was occurring just yet. He'd been dodging around to do personal requests for Sera and Bull for the last week but she knew for a fact he was not doing anything today.

The Seeker swept passed the throne and yanked open the door that led to his quarters, being rather loud to alert him of her approach. She paused outside the door to his actual quarters, taking a deep breath before yanking that open as well, taking the steps two at a time.

"Inquisitor, I have a question to a-Aah!" Cassandra cut off into a gasp, a knife sailing through the air and stabbing into the wood on the other side of the room, just inches from her head. She turned to him with wide eyes, the elf sitting at his desk with his feet up, a grin on his face.

"Well, hello, my lady Seeker. What a surprise visit." He mused, lowering his feet and standing, dumping several throwing knives onto his desk. Cassandra was there in shock for a moment longer before she recovered, stepping up the last of the stairs and looking at the several knives lodged into the wooden frame. 

"Target practice?" She noted dryly, turning a small glare towards him, Yevan just laughing it off and shrugging, strolling over to yank them out of the wooden frame. It was fairly damaged, obviously used to the abuse of knives being flung into it.

"You could say that. To what do I owe the visit of Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast to my  _quarters?_ Imagine what they'll say." He drawled, humouring only himself. Cassandra crossed her arms, watching him take the knives over to his desk and sit back down, putting his feet up. He picked up one of the knives by the tip, tossing it in the air a few times before throwing it again into the wooden frame, looking almost bored. She moved away from the stairs and towards his desk, looking around the quarters quietly.

"I was... I came to see if you would be willing to spar." She murmured, turning to him. He flung another knife, eyes shooting to her in sync with the sound of the knife stabbing into the wood across the room.

"You want  _me_ to spar with  _you?_ " He raised his brows, looking entertained by the suggestion. 

"Is that an appalling idea?" She quipped back, watching him break out into a grin. Lavellan laughed, picking up another knife, gripping the tip and tossing it, looking at her.

"I suppose not. I didn't know you enjoyed the idea of being beaten." He drawled, catching the knife and stabbing it into his desk. Now it was her turn to be amused, raising her brows and uncrossing her arms, laughing lightly.

"You think I can be beaten by you?"

"Oh, no. Not think. I  _know_. I'm saving you the embarrassment by declining." Yevan chuckled, tilting his head. 

"Or, perhaps you are saving yourself from what will surely be a grisly loss for you." Cassandra stated firmly, the same sarcastic edge to her voice that he sported. Yevan looked legitimately impressed, giving a good-natured laugh.

"Are you boasting, Cassandra? I do believe you are boasting." He mused, getting up to get his knives from the frame.

"Your influence, no doubt. But you boast far more than I do for someone who is unwilling to spar with me." She murmured, crossing her arms as he returned to his desk, setting down the knives before moving to them back into their sheaths. 

"Alright. I'll spar you. I hope your ready to be knocked into the mud in front of all of Skyhold." He drawled with a smirk, putting his knives away.

"The same goes for you, Inquisitor. I will meet you in the ring." The Seeker nodded, turning and heading out of his quarters, jumping when he threw another knife into the frame, only mere inches from having hit her. She turned a glare to him, Yevan grinning.

"Stay on your toes, Seeker. I'm full of surprises." He laughed, Cassandra shaking her head and ripping the knife out of the wood, throwing it at the floor by his desk.

"Talk means nothing unless you intend to act." She said in finality, stomping down the rest of the stairs out of his quarters, the tips of her ears burning. 


	16. Blood

blood  
bləd  
noun  
_4\. family background; descent or lineage._

 

"You want to visit your clan?" 

The request hung heavy in the air of the War Room, Leliana thin brows raising in surprise that the Inquisitor would  _dare_ suggest such a thing. They hadn't really had any pressing issues since the defeat of Corypheus' but for the Inquisitor to leave Skyhold on his own personal request was not something they expected.

"That's what I said, yes." Yevan replied coolly, crossing his arms and looking between his three advisers expectantly. The three exchanged looks again, Cullen the only one clearing his throat to speak.

"Inquisitor, would that really be a good idea  _right now?_ We've still many engagements--"

"None of which are pressing at this point in time. I read reports, you know. These can wait a month until I return." He returned dryly, tilting his head. 

"I agree. He should be allowed to go visit his clan." Leliana spoke up, unfolding her hands from behind her back to let them hang by her sides, turning to the other two. "He has been dedicated to the Inquisition and took time out of his busy schedule to aid us with personal matters. Should we not allow him to have some vacation time for himself?" 

Yevan looked pleased to have the Spymaster speak up for him, looking at Josephine and Cullen.

Josephine flicked through her reports, humming.

"I can push back diplomatic meetings a month. And, perhaps, use this visit in our favour. The nobles would be entertained by the notion, I'm sure, with the right words." She murmured, scribbling something down. Cullen nodded, turning to face the Inquisitor and mustering up a smile.

"I believe that is settled. I'm sure we can work this into favour and perhaps give the troops some leave for a short while." The Commander suggested, Yevan nodding in agreement.

"Why not? They deserve some time to themselves. Let's use this momentary peace to our advantage. Now that that's settled, I have one more request."

"My lord?"

"Seeker Pentaghast will be joining me." Lavellan nodded, the advisers exchanging looks yet again.

"I'll hear no objections to it." He added, crossing his arms.

"Of course. I'll arrange safe passage for you and Cassandra to the Free Marches." Josephine bowed her head, Leliana and Cullen nodding.

"And I will have scouts clear a path." The Spymaster nodded, turning to the Inquisitor.

"And I will put the troops on leave. Is there anything else, Inquisitor?" He asked, Yevan uncrossing his arms and shaking his head. 

"That about wraps it up. We'll meet again before I depart. Keep me updated on the transportation situation, Josephine." He bowed his head in dismissal, turning and leaving the war room. He walked ahead of his advisers, ducking out of Josephine's office and into the main room. Lavellan greeted visiting dignitaries with all the charm he was known for, heading outside to the area beside the tavern Cassandra had staked her claim on.

She was seated on a stool, reading under the shade of the fortress walls, looking up when she saw him approached, a smile over-taking her lips.

"I was wondering where you were." She murmured, closing her book and standing, setting it on the stool. Yevan smirked at her, reaching over and taking her hands in his, bringing them up to tenderly kiss her knuckles.

"Just busy with arrangements. I have a question to ask you, ma vhenan." He drawled, tilting his head while looking up at her. Cassandra raised a slender brow in question.

"How would you like to accompany me to visit Clan Lavellan?" The elf asked lightly, Cassandra raising both eyebrows in surprise now.

"You want to take me to visit your clan?"

"Of course! They're dying to meet my bond. My sisters, especially." He laughed, smiling broadly. Cassandra smiled a tad at him, though it was edging on nervous.

"I... I do not know what to say." She murmured, looking at their hands. Yevan squeezed both of her hands affectionately. 

"Well, you could say  _yes_." He joked dryly, Cassandra looking up at him and narrowing her eyes playfully.

"I would be honoured to join you." The Seeker nodded, Yevan grinning broadly in delight.

"I'm glad. You needn't worry about hostility from them. They'll be on their best behaviour, I promise." He replied with a nod, Cassandra quirking a bit of a smile for him.

"How long will we be there?" She asked, dragging him with her to claim her book from its spot on the stool before allowing him to lead her away.

"Two weeks, give or take. Long enough for them to determine whether or not you're good enough for the pride of clan Lavellan." He mused, Cassandra giving him a look that made him laugh.

"I'm joking, I'm joking. They'll adore you, I'm certain of it." He said reassuringly, leading her passed the throne.

"You never talk much about your clan. Is there anything I should know?" She asked, Yevan looking at her and smirking, shaking his head.

"Nothing that I tell you will prepare you for actually meeting them. You'll see for yourself soon enough."


	17. Twisted

twist·ed  
ˈtwistəd  
adjective  
_1\. forced out of its natural or proper shape; crumpled._  
_2\. (of a personality or a way of thinking) unpleasantly or unhealthily abnormal; warped._

 

Lavellan did not get stressed. In fact, he considered himself one of the most laid back people at Skyhold, second to no one. He dealt with thing rationally and when he couldn't handle something, he would drink until he forgot about it and it no longer bothered him. Not a healthy coping mechanism, but he got by.

Being shackled with an unwanted title to be a beacon of hope to all of Thedas as the Herald to some shemlen God he didn't believe in nor care for he could handle. He could handle people praising his name and huddling around in desperate prayer. He could handle the crushing responsibility saddled on his shoulders that he declined but was given regardless. He could pretty much handle anything with enough apathy and spirits.

But it now was too much.

People he'd come to know personally were asking for favours left and right and he had suddenly become Skyhold's nanny rather than its Inquisitor. He went out of his way to make sure Cullen was eating and getting breaks where they played chess to keep his Commander grounded, leaving time to let the stressed man vent when he needed it while still making time to prank Skyhold with Sera and check up on everyone else he had on his plate. He finished helping Josephine with her request in Val Royeaux, subsequently destroying their relationship days after. Sera then had a request for her Red Jenny business, something that ended in disaster but had strengthened their friendship strangely enough. Cassandra had approached him about searching for the missing Seekers only moments after the Iron Bull told him about the Ben-Hassrath request. Not to mention the piles and piles of things to be done waiting for him in the War Room.

The Inquisition was still rallying forces to prepare for the siege on Adament, Yevan having to dodge around between there and the Exalted Plains, hardly getting a chance to catch his breath.

He was wound up tight and let the stress be his anchor in battle, absolutely losing himself to the mayhem. No one noticed, which he considered a grand thing. He was fairly adept at masking his emotions and body language, at least he hoped.

The Iron Bull didn't seem completely convinced. 

Their party had just returned from the Exalted Plains for supply runs, dropping off the request to clear Ghilan'nain's Grove for access. Yevan and Bull barreled right for the tavern, the latter taking notice as to how the Inquisitor practically ran inside the tavern when Cassandra had looked over from her spot by the dummies. Then again, Bull had been hyper aware of Lavellan's increasingly dodgy behaviour around the Seeker. And he felt obligated to assist the elf considering he'd gone out of his way to placate him after the mess with the Ben-Hassrath. 

"You alright there, Boss?" The Qunari asked carefully, watching the smaller male drain a tankard of alcohol like it was life itself. 

"Gettin' there. Three more of these and I'll get back to you." Yevan drawled once he finally lowered the tankard.

"That's not what I meant." The Bull mused, lounging back in his seat, taking slow and deliberate sips from his own beverage. The elf gave him a strange look, brows furrowing as if confused or amused, still smirking as he wont to do.

"Spit it out, Bull, I'm not playing a guessing game." He quipped in a sarcastic tone, The Iron Bull blinking his visible eye slowly in response, knowing full-well the elf used sarcasm as a defensive mechanism constantly.

"You're stressed." He said simply, testing the waters. Yevan just bared his teeth in a false, half-grin, brows creasing further. 

"Nothing a little more of this can't fix." Lavellan said plainly, tossing back the remains of his tankard.

"Shit, all the booze in Skyhold couldn't drown what's buggin' you, Boss." Iron Bull laughed, the Inquisitor giving a rather tight smile. 

"I heard about your little... endeavor with our lovely Ambassador Montilyet." The mercenary added, eye flickering down to catch the slight tightening of Yevan's grip around his tankard. Sore spot.

"I'm certain most if not  _all_ of Skyhold has heard of it by now." The elf returned in a rather icy tone, thanking a tavern waitress for his refill with a dashing albeit heinously fake smirk. 

"So what's up with that? She not puttin' out?" Iron Bull joked, lips tugging into a bit of a smirk at the choked chuckle Yevan gave, his head shaking before he sipped his drink.

"No, no--nothing like that. Josephine is an absolute lady but, if I wanted that out of her I can assure you, I would have gotten it. It just wasn't the right time?" Yevan leaned back and slumped in his chair. "I don't know... It seemed like a wonderful idea in theory. To tell you the truth, Bull, I don't know two shits about shemlen  _or_ relationships." _  
_

"Don't tell me you're gettin' all lonely and lovesick on me, Boss." Bull teased, nudging him playfully, enough to get a laugh out of the elf.

"I don't know, probably? I don't know myself." Yevan shrugging, nursing his tankard contently. 

"So, it was an embarrassing and sloppy mess, but so what? That's not the core of the issue, is it?" Bull pried, Lavellan turning his head to look at his companion, raising his brows.

"Are we talking  _feelings_  right now, Bull? What are we now, girlfriends? Are we gonna hold hands and trade secrets?" He quipped with an amused smile, Bull shrugging a shoulder, sipping his drink.

"You said it, Boss, not me." He mused, earning another laugh in response, Yevan shaking his head.

"Alright, fine." He paused, expressing turning serious, a crease between his eyebrows that was likely from thinking.

"You know... You're the only one actually asking how  _I_ feel." He remarked, scratching his jaw in though.

"Yeah, I'm also the only one who notices your constant pretending. Ben-Hassrath training, remember? Don't care how good you think you are at hiding, I'm better at  _finding_." The mercenary pointed out, watching his companion deflate and relax beside him, a rare sight these days.

"I honestly don't know how I feel now that you're actually asking." Yevan murmured, tone incredibly somber.

"Well, stressed out of your  _mind_ , for one. Lashing out on the battlefield is probably the only thing keeping you from a complete meltdown in the middle of the War Room." Iron Bull pointing out, ordering two more refills from a passing by waitress.

"It's not from the missions or the title--Really, I got over that. It's more on the personal front." Yevan explained slowly, Bull tilting his head.

"I noticed. You're wound up tighter than a bow. You need to unwind, Boss, before that bow breaks." The mercenary murmured, Yevan nodding and finishing his second tankard.

"That's what this is for. It'll keep me fine for another night. I'll move passed all this bullshit in time. Thanks for your concern though, Bull. It means... Really it means more than I can say." Yevan murmured, Bull nodding and thanking the waitress for the refills.

"Sure thing, Boss. Everyone's too busy with their own bullshit to notice the Inquisitor is on the brink." Iron Bull drawled, draining his tankard pleasantly, the elf draining his quickly and setting it aside along with the gold to pay off his drinks, moving to stand.

"I'll sleep it off. See ya tomorrow, Bull. Thanks for the chat." He mused, patting the Qunari's shoulder, touch lingering for a moment too long before pulling away and heading out of the tavern, Iron Bull watching in amusement. He shook his head and looked away, picking up his tankard again.

He'd deal with that tomorrow.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you better believe he rides the fucking bull


	18. Falling

fall  
fôl  
verb  
gerund or present participle: **falling**  
_1\. move downward, typically rapidly and freely without control, from a higher to a lower level._

 

A brush with death is rumoured to cause one's own life to flash before their eyes. The amount of times that the Inquisitor had nearly died was so frequent that he was not only used to the constant retelling of his entire life before his eyes but had long grown bored of it.

Only now did the threat of death seem absolute.

Yevan was actually angry about it.

He'd survived an explosion at the Conclave, an unknown Mark threatening to take his life, a cave of angry apostates, hoards of bears, traveling in time with a Tevinter mage, wandering through a blizzard, the scorn of Josephine,  _and_ getting into an explicit relationship with his Qunari companion--but  _falling_ would be his cause of death. _  
_

No fanfare, no nothing. Just a drop from a height high enough to kill him. 

It was disappointing. He was insulted that this would be his end.

He would drop to his death without having seen his clan again, without having punched Corypheus in his big face like he  _so desperately_ wanted to.

Without having even worked up the nerve to try and tell Cassandra how he felt about her. Then again, she was falling beside him and what better time to confess than now?

Yevan tried shouting it to her but the wind carried his voice and rendered it useless.

Maybe if he got her attention he could try to mouth the words to her? She may not understand but at least he'd have said it.

He moved his arms to try and wave to her, the Mark on his hand lighting up and glowing, the sensation making him inwardly groan. He awkwardly thrust his left hand out to try and get her attention, his Mark sparking like it did when he closed Rifts, the green light shooting out from his palm and opening some sort of Rift below them. He shouted and cursed at his hand in Elven, eyes going wide when he saw what the Rift led to. 

On second thought, maybe crashing onto rocks at the bottom of the cliff was not such a bad idea.


	19. Evanesce

ev·a·nesce  
ˌevəˈnes  
verb; literary  
_pass out of sight, memory, or existence  
_

 

Rebuilding the Chantry was such a vacuous idea the Yevan didn't even stop to humour it. The only individual he actually listened to when they spoke of the Chantry was Cassandra but he was biased when it came to her and would listen to just about  _anything_ that left her mouth.

After Halamshiral, he was met with the ghastly news that his beloved Seeker was a candidate for the Divine. He'd thought it was laughable, the idea of the Divine and Chantry as a whole. The Chantry could fall into ruin for all he cared; he certainly wouldn't be losing any sleep over its loss. He had hoped to find the idea agreeable with Cassandra but she had hope in the Chantry and she was  _considering_ accepting the position if she was chosen.

That admission had flipped his entire world upside-down.

He didn't give much thought to the future and what life would be like after Corypheus was out of the picture. He was far more comfortable living in the present than in the past and future--Hell, he'd already  _been_ to the future and found in not to be to his liking. He simply focused on the now and on the mission he was to complete to ensure that future he foresaw never came true, nothing else. 

But that damn Divine candidacy now suddenly had him thinking of the future.

What if Cassandra  _was_ chosen? Would she truly accept the position and leave the Inquisition? What would become of their relationship? Would she  _leave_   _him?_

The last thought alone left him equal parts furious and morose. What he had with her he'd never had with anyone before and the idea of that slipping away, of that falling evanescent...

It terrified him. The idea of being separate from her he could be but entirely without? He'd never imagined it was a possibility. Yevan never focused on things of that nature, never thought of the terrible realities of their ill-timed tryst. 

With the end drawing near, however, he was forced to face them. He was forced to accept that Cassandra may end up having to choose between the Chantry she so loved and him.

And, for the life of him, he couldn't guess what he answer would be.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> honestly, i could not take this serious 
> 
> i spent the entire duration of writing this laughing about evanesence


	20. Mind

mind  
mīnd  
noun  
_3\. take care of temporarily._

 

"My dear, you really should be more mindful." Vivienne tsked with an elegant shake of her head, Iron Bull rumbling an amused laugh from just behind her. 

"Shit, Boss... You're always so careful and never get a scratch, but  _this_?" He let out another laugh, earning a rude hand gesture from the Inquisitor. In the heat of battle, Yevan had been distracted enough that he had taken damage-- _severe_ damage. As in an arrow was stuck in his shoulder. 

"Excuse me, that archer was hiding. You expect me to believe you saw him?" Yevan drawled, looking up at the Qunari. He grinned and nodded.

"Thought you saw him, Boss. You're the one always disappearin' and pickin' them off. Guess he slipped your mind." 

"How severe is it?" Cassandra asked crossing her arms and furrowing her brows. Vivienne hummed, gentle fingers prodding around the wound, working her healing magic in her fingertips to assist.

"Oh, it's quite a clean wound, actually. It should heal up just fine. A shame you'll have a scar on such lovely skin." She tasked again, Yevan giving a look from over his shoulder, watching her work in intrigue. 

"Why, Madame Vivienne, I have many scars if you're so concerned." He drawled, Vivienne giving a melodious chuckle.

"An arrow in your shoulder and you still keep your charm. You never fail to impress, my dear." She mused in return, healing up around the wound enough to remove the arrow, holding it out to Bull to hold before wrapping Yevan's shoulder while humming. 

"We'll keep the arrow as a souvenir. Y'know, for your blunder of today." Bull mused, looking at it, Yevan giving a short laugh from the ground. 

"How sentimental of you, Bull. Maybe we'll put it on a plaque, hang it in the War Room."

"Yeah, we'll make it a tourist attraction. I'm sure nobles would just adore to see the arrow that wounded the famed Lord Inquisitor Lavellan." Bull mused, holding out his hand to help Vivienne back to her feet once she hand finished. She thanked him and patted his pectoral lightly before turning to Yevan, clasping her hands in front of her.

"You'll need to rest now, my dear. Any further strenuous activity will reopen my work and delay healing. I suggest we make plans to head back to Skyhold. You'll be needing the aid of the medics there to ensure it heals without complications." 

"Agreed. We should set up camp." Cassandra spoke up, uncrossing her arms with a nod. Vivienne and Bull both nodded in agreement, Yevan curiously examining the wrappings on his injured shoulder. 

"I suppose here should be fine. I don't intend on moving unless one of you carries me." He spoke up, looking up at his three companions with a grin. 

"Shit, I'll carry you. You're what, seven pounds eight ounces?" Iron Bull quipped back, Yevan giving a light-hearted laugh.

"What a lovely suggestion. Bull, darling, won't you carry our dear Inquisitor? I would much rather we set up camp closer to a river and further away from an area where we've just slain Freeman." Vivienne spoke up. Yevan opened his mouth to protest, one great arm hauling him up and over Bull's massive shoulder. He couldn't help but laugh at how ridiculous the scene must look.

Cassandra shook her head in amusement, grabbing her shield from where she left it, walking ahead with Vivienne so the two could scout out a decent place to camp while Bull minded the Inquisitor. 

*If I'd known this was an option, I would have just given up walking all together." Yevan mused, knocking his elbow to Bull's horn when he felt his massive hand settle on his rear to hold him up.

"Pretty sure I could still fight while holdin' you, Boss. A shame you don't use a bow, otherwise you could just stay up there and pick off targets." 

"Ah, yes, the same thing you're trying to convince Sera to do."

"Exactly! Think of the practicality and the possibilities!" Iron Bull laughed, Yevan leaning to the side to narrowly avoid taking a horn to the face.

"Think of the concussions one would get falling from this height." The elf added dryly.

"That's nothing compared to the  _mayhem_." The Qunari rumbled, Yevan laughing at the excitement in his tone and expression.

"You know, I  _can_ throw daggers. I'll indulge you and pick off a ram or two from up here." He suggested, Bull giving a short laugh.

"Now we're talkin'."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im officially 1/5 of the way through with this shitshow  
> and these prompts are becoming gradually absurder


	21. Music

mu·sic  
ˈmyo͞ozik  
noun  
_1\. vocal or instrumental sounds (or both) combined in such a way as to produce beauty of form, harmony, and expression of emotion._

 

The sun had already slipped down passed the fortress walls and set by the time Cassandra finished with her usual training. Normally, she was finished up and everything was put away by the time sun set but she'd overworked it today, barely striking the last dummy when nightfall began to set in. She sighed heavily, holding her sword with one hand and wiping at her brow with the other, panting heavily after the exertion of her training. 

She could hear the muffled chatter within the tavern, not overpowering the bard as she warbled and plucked at her lute with a jaunty tune. Cassandra couldn't really hear the lyrics but it sounded peaceful enough, especially for the tavern. She rarely ever went into the establishment, the only times she really did being when Iron Bull would knock on the window and invite her in for a drunk. There had been once or twice Sera invited her inside for sweets by shouting from the roof near her little cranny. If she really had a hankering for ale, she would go in but for the most part was indifferent to the tavern.

Once she caught her breath, she put her sword back into its sheath, grabbing the dummies and putting them back into their places from the morning. She turned to look over her shoulder at the windows when she heard the thunderous laughter within, squinting a bit to make out the scene. 

The Inquisitor, of course, was in the tavern with Bull and the Chargers as was his habit, the group their usual obnoxiously loud and cheery sort. She could see waitresses flitting about to give them their drinks, watching the Inquisitor give them his dashing smile and no doubt working that charm of his on them.

She made a noise of derision and rolled her eyes, looking away. She knew full-well the Inquisitor was a flirtatious and lecherous man. She'd traveled with him enough to witness his constant flirting with people, including her own experience as being a target of his affections. It had been mostly playful and innocent but there were times when she truly couldn't read his intentions. He was frightfully good at covering sincerity with layers of sarcasm.

Cassandra sighed, turning to face away from the tavern windows and walking forward to call it a night, staring at the ground. Part of her told her to take everything Yevan said and did with a grain of salt--the rational side of her, at least. The other part of her, the romantic and hopeful side, wanted to believe he was sincere in his affections. She wasn't sure how dominant that side was, but it always became very apparent any time the Inquisitor was near or on her mind. It made her blush, biting down on her tongue as if to punish herself from thinking of him.

She did not have a  _crush_ on the Inquisitor. Absolutely not. She refused to allow herself to believe such a thing.

It didn't matter if she stammered and blush when he flirted with her or how that charming grin of his made her heart beat quicken--she _did not_ have a crush on him. 


	22. Spring

spring  
spriNG  
verb  
_1. move or jump suddenly or rapidly upward or forward._

 

"I can reach it. I promise you, I can reach that." Yevan stated over and over again, pointing up at the ledge. They hadn't brought an archer with them and were trying to plan an ambush for an incoming patrol of Freeman in the Emerald Graves. He insisted that he could throw daggers and leap from the edge as a distraction, though the only hassle was getting him up on the ledge.

Solas and Blackwall traded looks, Iron Bull the only one really in favour.

"It's brilliant! I can throw you up there and then you jump down, stab one of them in the jugular and then do that vanishing thing you do. Then I'll come running out and charge at them, knock 'em down and let Blackwall sweep in and kill them while Solas picks 'em off with his magic from the back." The mercenary suggested, grinning broadly at his abridged plan.

"Or, a safer alternative could be I can boost you off my shield. It isn't a perfect plan but it'll hold." The Warden suggested, not catching the annoyed side-eye Lavellan gave him.

"Oh, sure. Might as well put you to use." Yevan said dryly, turning to look back up at the ledge, Blackwall sighing heavily. 

"Well whatever we're doing we must do it fast. I will get into position." Solas bowed his head and swept off to hide amoungst the trees, Iron Bull grinning and standing aside to watch Blackwall boost Yevan up.

"Right there should be good." Yevan nodded, backing up to get a running start. Blackwall raised his shield and nodded as a signal, the elf sprinting across the road and jumping on the shield, Blackwall pushing back his full weight upwards. Iron Bull gave a boisterous laugh at watching the rogue spring through the air, landing rather ungracefully on the ledge with a laugh. 

"Do be careful not to fall, Inquisitor." Blackwall called up to the elf, turning away just in time to miss the rude hand gesture Yevan made to him, ducking on the ledge and taking out his throwing knives. He tried his best not to laugh at Iron Bull's massive form ducking behind foliage to try and hide, having to contort to hide his horns. 

After his mishap of getting injured during their previous expedition to the Emerald Graves, he decided not to bring Cassandra to keep himself focused. He had a tendency to get distracted when she was nearby, especially in combat. He'd panicked when he heard her grunt while in the heat of battle, part of the reason he took an arrow to the shoulder the last time. Instead, he took the two people he knew he would worry the least about and not be distracted by. A small price to pay for being annoyed by the two men at every turn.

Yevan hid on the ledge just fine, watching patiently for the patrol to arrive. When the patrol was in sight, he got ready, waiting until they were close enough before he threw three knives at once, one freeman taking one right in the shoulder and another freeman taking two, one in the arm and the other in the throat. While they were in a commotion, Yevan took a running start on the ledge before leaping off with his daggers in hand. He dove towards the patrol feet first, kicking two of the Freeman on the sides of their heads and taking them down with him to the ground. He turned to dodge a sword coming at him, jumping the side and slipping into a cloud of smoke. He hid behind some trees, watching the Iron Bull come charging down and plowing through the patrol, sending the soldiers of a smaller stature than himself flying off the sides and to the ground. It took a lot of control to not bust out laughing.

Blackwall followed after, bashing a man with his shield right after he stood up, sending him flying back to the ground. Yevan kept hidden, picking off the targets that hit the ground. Solas froze one of the Freeman, Iron Bull smashing him with his axe and howling in delight when the man exploded. 

They made quick work of the Freeman, Yevan acting as a Throat Cutter to make sure they were all dead, searching the bodies in case there were letters or anything of importance on them. Blackwall and Solas were chatting idly, Bull clapping Yevan on the back when he stood up.

"That was fun, Boss. Next time, I get to throw you." He mused, picking up his axe, Yevan chuckling and reading over the letter he'd found on the body.

"By all means, hurl me into a hoard of enemies. It'll be great fun." He drawled, folding up the letter and tucking it into a pouch on his belt. 

"It would, wouldn't it? I throw you and you do that... spinning thing you do with your daggers--"

"You know what else would be fun? I have knock-out powder. We'll isolate one, dose him up on it and you throw him at his friends." Yevan suggested, nodding his head forward to signal the group to start walking, smirking when he heard Iron Bull give a laugh.

"That's a good idea! And I can throw pretty hard. Knock three-four guys on their asses with their own companion." The Qunari gave another laugh at the idea, Yevan contently amused with his massive companion for the rest of their expedition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tbh this was just an excuse for iron bull fun because he is just delightful


	23. Flowers

flow·er  
ˈflou(ə)r  
noun  
plural noun: **flowers**  
_1\. the seed-bearing part of a plant, consisting of reproductive organs (stamens and carpels) that are typically surrounded by a brightly colored corolla (petals) and a green calyx (sepals)._

 

He couldn't believe he was doing this.

He  _could not_ believe that he was  _actually_ doing this.

Yevan had pulled strings to allow him reason to travel to Val Royeaux unattended, considering none of his advisers were willing to allow such a thing. It was absurd, but he'd managed to plan out a good enough of an excuse to go by himself. If they knew the actual reasons he had been stubbornly insisting that he would go and without anyone with him, they would probably be extremely angry with him.

He'd come all the way to Val Royeaux on his own to buy flowers.

And candles.

Lavellan thought it was funny that he was taking what Cassandra had said seriously. If she wanted flowers and poetry read to her by candlelight, she was going get exactly that. He was  _so_ glad and relieved that she had finally noticed his constant flirting. He'd begun to think her to be as oblivious as Josephine or just simply reluctant to react to his romantic intentions. He had to thank his lucky stars that it had been the latter than the former, unsure if he would've been able to handle another chaste and innocent relationship like his brief time with Josephine.

He stopped by several shops to see if he could find what he needed, obtaining "romantic candles" from a close-by merchant out of sheer luck. He couldn't understand what exactly made them romantic but was just happy to have gotten that out of the way. The flowers turned out to be the most difficult element to find it Val Royeaux, something that baffled the elf more than he could express in words. He didn't simply want to bring Cassandra random wild flowers that held no meaning and that she could find anywhere, he wanted something rare and with a meaning that would stick. He toyed with the idea of roses but found it to be too cliche. 

With a huff, he walked up the stairs that lead to the courtyard of the Summer Bazaar and made a beeline for the schematic shop he frequented, wondering if they could point him in the direction of some smutty shemlen poetry, when lo and behold, a flower vendor was nearby. Yevan sighed in delight, striding over and greeting the small elf woman manning the stand.

She spoke to him about the flowers, Yevan curiously looking over the bouquets she had on display. They came in all kind of colours, Yevan finding himself partial to the darker reds out of habit. When the vendor asked who they were for, his mind blanked. Shit, what would he say? They had to be romantic and perfect but he couldn't just  _say_ they were being purchased for the sole purpose of romantic endeavors. Even he knew when to have tact. But if he lied and said something else, what if she sold him some sub-par bushel? He couldn't have that.

"They're for... A lady friend." Yevan said slowly, looking up from the bouquets and to her, watching her brows raise. He relaxed when she spoke of having the right thing for the job, inwardly hoping that they would be red. He paid them and asked for a "discreet" delivery before heading off to the schematic shop, greeting the merchants and inquiring about poetry books.

Yevan didn't know much about poetry, let alone  _shemlen_ poetry. He had asked Dorian about it before embarking on this quest, the Tevinter giving him a list of a few good titles that he insisted were, as far as poetry went,  _sinful_. He asked Varric the same favour and was pleased to find he and Dorian named a lot of the same books. 

In the end, he ended up leaving Val Royeaux without the poetry book, having only a lead to obtain it.


	24. Dew

dew  
d(y)o͞o  
noun  
_1\. tiny drops of water that form on cool surfaces at night, when atmospheric vapor condenses._

 

It had rained the night before in the Hinterlands, the early morning giving way to a soft haze. There was a slight chill in the air left over from the cool rain, the cold temperatures from the mountains billowing down upon the lower lands. There were puddles to be found everywhere, the soft and steady sounds of rain dripping from tree branches and onto the ground below. Morning dew clung to blades of grass on the ground and onto the metal armour of those unfortunate enough to have been out for the duration of the nightly rain. 

It was an otherwise peaceful morning in the Outskirts, a sort of serene atmosphere to wake up to after a day of traveling and fighting. Or at least it should have been.

Yevan and Cassandra had been arguing since the sun had risen, disturbing the peace of the small camp. Varric and Solas both kept quiet and observed, instead eating the breakfast they had cooked over the fire while the two hot-headed individuals shouted at each other. Cassandra was more aggressive, her shouting and empty threats dismissed and laughed at by the otherwise cruel Yevan. He was laughing at practically everything she said, insulting her just short of calling her a vacuous moron.

"They never quit, do they?" Varric remarked, shaking his head slowly as he ripped a piece off of his bread and ate it, watching them argue on a hill about 30 feet from camp.

"Cassandra has a point. I believe the Herald is just fighting for the purpose of fighting." Solas added, watching the scene with narrowed eyes. It was a miracle Cassandra didn't just start swinging, considering Yevan didn't bother to respect her personal space and would get in her face at any given opportunity.

"He does that. He's an angry little fellow. I can see his point, though." Varric drawled dryly, the apostate turning to face him and raising a brow.

"How so?"

"Well, you surrendered and joined the Inquisition willingly, Chuckles. Spitfire over there is like me; we didn't have a choice. If I'd been chained up, interrogated, called a liar and a murderer by a bunch of people I didn't know, well I'd imagine I'd be pretty pissed off too." The dwarf explained, Solas just humming in understanding.

"Still. They did offer him the chance to leave and he remained."

"He's angry, not stupid. He knows he alone can close the Breach. Clearly, he doesn't like the idea but he won't leave because he can't stand one human." Varric drawled, Solas giving a soft laugh.

"He can't stand  _any_ humans, actually."

"Or elves, for that matter." Varric added, the corners of the mage's lips turning downwards. 

"You're probably the only person he  _doesn't_ hate, Varric." Solas murmured, turning to watch their fight again.

"There's a comfort in that. I'd never want to be a target of his anger. He fights dirty." Varric shook his head, watching Cassandra storm away from the elf and towards camp, leaving Yevan to brood on the hill.

"I take it he's unhappy." Varric said lightly when she returned to camp, Cassandra turning her furious glare onto him.

"How perceptive of you,  _Varric_." She ground out, Varric shaking his head and looking back over at Yevan.

"Surprised you don't just knock him out. You're bigger than he is." The dwarf added, hearing the Seeker inhale and exhale sharply from what was surely irritation.

Solas passed her a plate with the food they'd prepared, not trying to incite her wrath.

"We need to get moving soon. Perhaps you can tame him long enough to eat?" The apostate suggested, looking at the dwarf.

"Yeah, sure. Hopefully he doesn't bite my head off." Varric mumbled, standing up and brushing himself off. Solas turned to Cassandra and made light conversation to try and soothe her fury while Varric wandered over to the hill where Yevan was still standing vigilant.

"Rough morning?" The dwarf said in a sarcastic tone, the elf looking over his shoulder at him.

"Not the worst one yet." He said dryly, facing forward once again. Varric stopped beside him, peering over the hill at the view.

"So what'd she do to piss you off this time?" He inquired, watching the corner of Yevan's lips quirk in a momentary smirk of amusement.

" _Breathe_." 

"That'll do it every time." Varric replied flatly, Yevan snorting a laugh.

"She can't seem to comprehend  _why_   I don't want to be near her. How daft are humans?" Yevan asked, looking at Varric.

"I've been around my fair share of humans and, lemme tell you,  _pretty_ damn daft." He mused, the elf giving a slight chuckle.

"I take it you haven't been around too many humans." Varric stated, looking up at him. Not many had inquired about Yevan's life prior to the Breach. He figured none of them cared enough.

"No, not really. Only when we would trade and that was always in passing." Yevan said rather stiffly, rolling his shoulders. "And I've certainly never dealt with such a... Fenedhis, I _hate_ that vile woman." He spat, shaking his head.  


"I think you probably hate everybody right now."

"It's a good guess." 

They lapsed into a comfortable silence, the tension slowly easing off Yevan's shoulders before he sighed heavily, uncrossing his arms.

"I'm glad you see my point of view, Varric. It's a small comfort but it's certainly more than I've gotten from this fucking  _Inquisition_." Yevan drawled, looking down at the dwarf.

"Least I can do, Spitfire. Now, can you try not to fight with the Seeker long enough to eat?" He asked in a sardonic tone, Yevan giving him a bit of a grin.

"I can't promise I won't fight with either of them." He mused, Varric shaking his head, the two turning to head back to the camp.

"They're really good at riling you up. Especially when you're already pissed." The dwarf mused in return, Yevan giving a nod. Solas and Cassandra were silent when they returned to the camp, though it was apparent the Seeker went right back to seething the moment the elf had taken his seat.

"Ma serannas." He thanked Varric when the dwarf had handed him the plate of food, his brows furrowing a tad as he looked at the meal curiously. **  
**

"Still not used to this style of cooking, are you." Varric mused, sitting beside him, Yevan giving the dwarf his approximation of a smile and nodding.

"I doubt I ever will be used to it." He remarked casually, beginning to eat.

"What was your clan like, any how? You don't speak of it much." Varric asked, picking up his previously abandoned plate to get seconds.

"I like an air of mystery surrounding me at all times." Yevan quipped playfully, making the dwarf chuckle.

"Your clan was not like other Dalish clans. I've met many in my travels and most would avoid settling that far north, or getting involved in human affairs. It is curious." Solas interjected, all the playful energy draining from Yevan the second the other elf had opened his mouth.

"No." He said firmly, giving a scowl of irritation at the apostate, looking away from him in favour of his food.

Varric sighed, shaking his head.

It was going to be a  _long_ day.


	25. Windows

win·dow  
ˈwindō  
noun  
plural noun: **windows**  
_1\. an opening in the wall or roof of a building or vehicle that is fitted with glass or other transparent material in a frame to admit light or air and allow people to see out._

 

There were many views within Skyhold that Lavellan had grown quite fond of. The one from the balcony within his quarters was fantastic, giving him a view of the mountains that framed the Inquisition fortress, as well as a bird's eye view of the garden below. The tallest tower in Skyhold offered an even better view of the mountains from its highest level, a relaxing spot to retire to for a spell at dusk. The battlements were optimal for viewing the mountains at a less extreme height, perfect for a casual viewing of the sunrise and sunset.

Amoungst his favourite views was the window in the corner of the library where Dorian dwelled. The mage was often standing and out of the chair long enough that Yevan could occupy it while listening to his Tevinter friend chat idly about the pitiful selection within the library and other things unrelated to Corypheus. Dorian was a grounding person to talk to, even if he mostly rambled and spoke to hear the sound of his own voice. 

The window provided a view of the staircase that led up to the courtyard, as well as a lovely view of the courtyard itself. Beyond the tavern, one could make out the shape of Seeker Pentaghast as she attacked the dummies, looking positively theatrical from the angle. It felt like a sneaky view, Yevan able to idly watch the smudges that were her against the background of Skyhold. 

The balcony where Vivienne dwelled gave him a sense of arrogance and power within him, able to stand on top and watch everything come together around him. He enjoyed stepping out onto the balcony for a chat, feel the light breeze on his face and the warmth of the sun beating down upon himself and Madame de Fer. Vivienne appealed to his egotistical ways and desire to show power and authority. He could speak to her and feed his ego, bask in the beauty of the weather of Skyhold and enjoy the ideal view of the tavern and Cassandra's little training area. It felt different from the view in Dorian's spot, much less relaxed and superficial. It was close enough to view her without having her blend away but high enough he felt like he was looking down upon her. It was an excellent spot for a boost of confidence before he decided to approach.

Sera's spot on the roof was similar in the sense of height but much less austere. It was a laid-back area, similar to Dorian's claim but on a far more intimate level. It was high enough to watch the goings-on within the courtyard. It was perfect enough for idle pranks on those passing by or sharing sweets Sera had filched from the kitchens. One could see clear down towards the lower level where the front gate was, watch messengers run along the bridge that led to Cullen's tower to deliver word. There was less sun beating down upon this spot, a slightly cooler breeze replacing it. It was optimal for not only viewing the Seeker as she trained but it opened a window for interacting with her. Sera enjoyed firing off arrows at dummies just as Cassandra was to strike them, earning a snarky laugh from the former and an irritated shout from the latter. Lavellan often indulged in this tiny nuisance, flinging daggers into targets and ducking behind Sera before the Seeker could yell at him. It was a futile attempt at hiding. More than once, Cassandra had thrown the daggers back at the roof, hitting the wooden frame that surrounded Sera's little corner. 

The windows at the back of the tavern were the ideal. Iron Bull was wondrous company and a favourable drinking buddy. Yevan would often join the group with the Bull's Chargers and drink near the windows, trading stories and jabs at one another. He always took a seat facing Bull so he could peak out the windows every now and then to see Cassandra putting the training dummies back into place before calling it a day. This view was unlike any of his previous. From here, it was wordless. From here, she was tangible. She wasn't smudges on a background, someone to view from above or someone to bother. At this level, she was a warrior. He could see the strength and power in each strike of her sword, see the way her torso heaved beneath her armour as she panted from exertion. Sometimes their eyes would meet for a moment and linger. The world always seemed to slow down around him during those times, the elf not hearing one of the Charger's jab at him, maybe miss his mouth when trying to take a sip from his tankard.

This particular view didn't take his breath away with mountains, overwhelm him with pride or allow him to watch the sun dip behind mountains. All it gave him was momentary contact and a chance to approach. He would get up and leave, catch Cassandra before she passed by the tavern. He never had a chance to collect himself and figure out what he would say to her like he did on Vivienne's balcony. On ground level, he was vulnerable and less prone to grand standing when trying to invite her inside for a round of drinks or offer walking her back to her quarters if she declined the first option. It was direct route to interacting with her without mustering up courage or infuriating her with pranks as a feeble attempt to get her attention. Here and only here, he could come to her as he was and possibly embarrass himself.

Cassandra was, after all, his favourite view in Skyhold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this prompt?????  
> absurd  
> but 1/4 of the way through oh golly


	26. Reflection

re·flec·tion  
rəˈflekSH(ə)n  
noun  
_2. serious thought or consideration._

 

The Fallow Mire was the ugliest place Lavellan had ever encountered. They had finished securing the mages and the Herald had insisted that they got rescue the patrol in the bog before they approached the Breach. He was unshakable in his stance that the Inquisition soldiers held priority and they needed time for the mages to "prepare" for the closing of the Breach. Really, he wanted to secure more territory and spread influence of the Inquisition before the Breach was dealt with, also save the patrol as they could no longer afford to lose anymore troops to silly things. 

They had been fighting well through the night against undead in the water and against the horrors the beacons in the dark summoned and were taking a breather at camp. He'd brought along Dorian, Cassandra and Sera, the mage complaining about bog water and mud caked on his robes and the general stench. Cassandra had been mostly quiet, Sera not fond of the beacons or the endless dark for that matter. The group was huddled around the fire they lit, tents set up and waiting, few words exchanged as they ate from their rations. They were all soaked from the rain and the bog water, covered in the blood of undead and swamp mud. 

"I am going to take  _the longest_ bath when we return." Dorian mumbled, brushing his hand over the stained fabric of his robe in a futile attempt to clean it. 

" 'Least it stopped friggin' rainin'." Sera added, looking up at the sky with a squint and a scowl. 

Yevan was probably the only one within the group not in a state of unease. 

"I wouldn't say that so soon. Looking at the clouds, I'd say it's bound to rain again at some point." The elf added, making Sera groan and flop backwards onto the ground.

"This place is the  _worst!_ I can't believe you dragged my arse down here to the middle of stinky nowhere!" She whined in a half-hearted complaint, Yevan giving a rather humoured grin.

"Oh, I thought you would all enjoy a taste of the Dalish life. You especially." He drawled, setting aside his ration. Sera flailed, weakly slapping his arm in a playful and pitiful manner.

"You're the friggin' worst and so it your stinky swamp life!" She said in anguish, Yevan reached over and plucking her ration from her to close it up properly before she spilled her food everywhere.

"The Dalish life? Were you from a swamp?" Dorian inquired, looking at Yevan. His impeccable hair was a disarray, the kohl he used to line his eyes smudged and streaking down his cheeks. It was a pitiful sight, truly.

"Not necessarily." Yevan said lightly, leaning back on his hands and crossing his ankles, stretching out comfortably. 

"Oh, you and your constant dodging of questions! How are we ever to truly know Andraste's Herald when he can't ever give us a straight answer to his origins!" Dorian said dramatically in a rather dry tone, closing up his own ration. Yevan gave an equally as dry laugh, tilting his head. 

"I don't see interest to be found in my background. Unlike you, Dorian, I don't enjoy talking about myself." He drawled, Dorian raising his brows in disbelief.

"You are the worst liar in all of Thedas, my lord Herald. That's  _all_ you do." He pointed out, Yevan giving a genuine laugh this time, Sera laughing weakly from her spot on the ground beside him.

"Yeah, you! You're always tryin' to pry shite out of us and you never share!" She nudged him, Yevan nudging her back.

"Oh, please, I told you that I was from North Wherever." He drawled, Sera shrieking a laugh, rolling to nudge him in the abdomen, the two elves practically wrestling. 

Dorian laughed a tad at this and shook his head, leaning his head against his hand and turning to Cassandra.

"How they can find humour and joy in this disgusting hole in the world is beyond me." He drawled, Cassandra humming and putting away her ration. 

"I agree. The sooner we leave this place, the sooner we can close the Breach." She said firmly, looking at the fire intently. She'd been rather outraged with Yevan's decision to put the closing of the Breach on hold for this little venture instead. 

"All in good time, Cassandra." Dorian clucked, looking up when he heard Yevan laughing from the ground, Sera sitting proudly on his chest. 

"Get off of me--!" He laughed breathlessly, trying to push Sera off but she stayed put.

"Not until you tell us if you're from a stinky swamp!" She insisted, pushing his hands away.

"You weigh  _a ton_ , I'm dying over here!" Yevan whined dramatically, Sera blowing the raspberry at him as she lifted her rump and slammed down her full weight onto his chest again, making him give a grunt of surprise that made both Cassandra and Dorian chuckle.

"Okay--fine, fine! You win! I fold, I fold." Yevan complied, Sera giving a curt nod and moving from his chest to sit on the ground. He pulled himself up, a tad breathless. 

" _No,_ I'm not  _from_ a swamp. I have, however, been in swamps briefly. My clan traveled often and swamps were an occasional destination we dwelled in during our travels. We usually settle in forests, however. Satisfied?" He explained, turning to Sera when he finished.

"I knew you were from a stinky swamp. 'S why you got that bloody stupid smile on your friggin' face when it's rainin'. Bet you like stinky rain in a stinky swamp too." Sera replied, shaking her head. He just gave a smirk and looked away, catching Cassandra's gaze momentarily from over the fire.

"Perhaps we should rest. We've some time before scouts arrive here and establish a camp. I will take first watch." The Seeker spoke up, Dorian groaning. 

"Oh, the thought of dirtying those poor bedrolls makes my heart ache." He said in anguish, standing up. "I'll take second shift so wake me when you are ready, Cassandra." He bowed his head and packed up his things before ducking into his tent, snapping it shut behind him.

"Rest sounds good, yeah? I could use forty winks before we get movin' through this place some more." Sera stated as she stood and stretched, nudging Yevan's arm with her leg.

"You get some rest too, Herald-face. We can't have you sleepin' while tryin' to close a Rift." She mused, Yevan chuckling and watching her duck into her own tent. 

Cassandra stretched out her legs in front of her, seated neatly on a rock flat enough to be comfortable for sitting on. Her dark hair was still damp, the strands clinging to her face. There were a few dark splatters and streaks on her face that were either undead blood or mud. Yevan was certain he looked worse for wear but didn't want to even think about it. He'd been shoving his hair back from his forehead all night, certain there was mud and blood caked on his dark locks. Yet another reason to look forward to the oncoming rain.

He stood, walking over to his tent and dragging the bedroll from out of it, laying it out on the ground in a suitable spot.

"What are you doing?" Cassandra asked slowly, brows knit together slightly in what was surely confusion. 

"I prefer sleeping this way. Tents are too... Restrictive." He explained, shedding his bulkier pieces of armour before laying down and stretching out on the bedroll. 

"Ah." Cassandra stayed quiet, looking at the fire still, her hand rested on the pommel of her sword.

"You're awfully quiet tonight, Seeker Pentaghast. Makes me wonder if I've done something to piss you off--which isn't  _hard_ , all things considered." He mused, lying on his side to face her, head propped up on his hand. She snorted softly, shaking her head.

"It is hardly that. You know my reluctance for this venture." She said firmly, holding her ungloved hands out towards the fire for some warmth.

"Which is mostly why I took you with me." He replied with a smirk, making the Seeker roll her eyes.

"Oh, come on. We're friends now, remember? Do I have to beg for forgiveness once again?" He teased, Cassandra narrowing her eyes at him.

"You never once begged for forgiveness."

"True, but I  _did_ apologise. Quite eloquently, as you'll remember." He pointed out with a grin, Cassandra shaking her head. 

"And I have forgiven you for your unsightly behaviour in the Hinterlands." She paused, pursing her lips. "Mostly." She tried not to smile at the exasperated sigh the elf gave, flopping onto his back on the bedroll. 

"I  _humbly_ ask for your forgiveness, Seeker Pentaghast, for my boorish and cruel treatment of you during out expeditions in the Hinterlands." He drawled out, turning his head to look at her.

"You are forgiven. Mostly." She said primly, retracting her hands from the warmth of the fire. 

"You really are a sadist, you know that? Do you enjoy having me beg and grovel at your feet?" Yevan grumbled, leaning up on his forearms.

"You have not groveled yet but you may if you think it will help." Cassandra drawled sardonically, looking up at him. His brows raised, a familiar smirk curling onto his lips that matched the glint in his eye. 

_Here we go._

"You're so ruthless. Are you like that with everyone or am I special?" He mused in that flirtatious drawl she had heard all too often. She pretended the heat in her cheeks was from the fire. 

"You are the only one infuriating enough to bring it out in me." She said back rather timidly despite herself, not letting her mind wander to her books.

When she'd first met Yevan, the antagonistic relationship between them was just that. They were both hot-headed and bellicose, constantly having to be separated or else there would be a shouting match within minutes. She had begun to wonder if things would always be so pugnacious between them. Even after Val Royeaux, Yevan greatly disliked her as she did him. They put it aside to work together and were able to accomplish things. Even then, he would flirt with her and it was innocent enough that she could relax a bit around him, not minding the idle flattery. It was far better than outright cruelty. 

Whatever had happened to him in Redcliffe when he traveled time with the Tevinter mage had changed him. Yevan had approached her and flat out apologised in the most sincere manner she'd ever gotten from him. He had done the same to Leliana but she imagined it was less profound than his apology for herself. He was as friendly with her now as he was with anyone else in the Inquisition, particularly those he teased and got teased by in return. She tried not to let her romantic heart lead her astray but she had read  _wonderful_ romance stories where the two lovers started out loathing each other in the beginning. With the way Yevan flirted with her, it made her wonder. She still firmly refused to have him ensnare her in his web of sweet words and flirtations but she could remember the same reluctance from her novels.

It was a battle of wills between her rationality and her romantic heart. 

Cassandra snapped out of her thoughts when she heard him say her name, blinking and looking up at him with raised eyebrows. 

"What did you say?" She asked, Yevan tilting his head, that damnable smirk still on his face. 

"I said you're the only one special enough to infuriate." He repeated, shifting to lay on his back and admire the sky. She bit down on the inside of her cheek, willing herself to think with her head and not her heart. 

She said nothing, focusing on the fire and nothing more until she was certain Lavellan was asleep.

 


	27. Mirrors

mir·ror  
ˈmirər  
noun  
plural noun: **mirrors**  
_1\. a reflective surface, now typically of glass coated with a metal amalgam, that reflects a clear image._

 

"How does it fit? Do you like it?" Josephine asked, her knee bouncing with impatience as she tapped her foot. Cassandra watched her knee bounce bemusedly from the chair right beside her, her arms folded across her chest and legs crossed as she relaxed in her seat. They both were staring at a changing screen, waiting for the Inquisitor to finish dressing so they could depart to the Winter Palace.

"My dears, do make it snappy or I fear our beloved Ambassador may explode." Vivienne drawled lightly, strolling into the room with two goblets in hand. She passed one to Josephine, the woman thanking her graciously and sipping to calm her nerves.

The stress was palpable.

While the Inquisitor was talented at charming nobles, he'd never played the Game like this before, let alone been around this many human nobles.  _And_ the Empress of Orlais at that! Josephine took a longer sip just thinking about it.

"Oh, we're doing our best, I assure you!" Dorian called out from behind the screen with a laugh, Lavellan's snicker heard alongside it. 

"Believe me, you won't recognize our dear Lord Inquisitor when I'm through with him." The Tevinter added, an unrefined laugh sounding from the Inquisitor.

"Oh, Dorian, Cassandra is right there; it really isn't the time." He mused, earning a short, haughty laugh from the Tevinter. Cassandra rolled her eyes and shook her head, uncrossing her arms. Vivienne, Josephine and herself were all wearing the same red Inquisition dress uniform, the same one Dorian was wearing himself and helping Yevan into. It was certainly taking longer than they would've liked but the mage and elf had a tendency to goof around when they were together. 

Dorian stepped out from behind the changing screen, mimicking the stance of a proud Orlesian noble. "My work here is done. No need to thank me." He drawled, turning his head as Yevan stepped out beside him, brows raising when he caught his reflection in the three, massive full-length mirrors set up in the changing room.

"You know my fondness for red." He chuckled, Vivienne striding over to adjust his sash and the like, Josephine beaming and sitting up straighter.

"Oh, it looks wonderful! Tell me, how does it fit? Do you like it?" The Ambassador asked, standing up and going over, making sure everything was set proper.

"'It fits well enough. Not as snug as I'd like but I will live. I could really do without the  _blue_ but, all in all, I do like it." He assured her with a nod and a smile, Josephine giving a sigh of relief. **  
**

"Good. I was worried it would not fit. Commander Cullen is having problems with his own. It's too tight, apparently. And you, Lord Pavus? How does yours fit?" She asked, raising a brow at the mage. He gave her a broad and handsome smile, nodding once.

"Like a glove. You leave the Inquisitor to us, Lady Montiliyet. Madame de Fer, Cassandra and I will see to our merry band of guests and ensure that they are all ball-ready." Dorian told her delicately, putting a hand on her back and leading her out of the room while Vivienne straightened out Yevan.

"You clean up so well, my dear. You will surely impress the courts." Vivienne chirped, her hands gently adjusting his hair and collar, making the elf chuckle. 

"Oh, I'll do more than impress, Lady Vivienne." He mused with a smirk, Vivienne raised her brows.

"I'm certain you will. I have full confidence in you, darling. Now," She pulled back, giving him a smile. "I'll leave you to Dorian. I'm going to go make sure that our dear Iron Bull is outfitted properly for this. I'll see you inside." She bowed her head, gracefully gliding out of the room to attend to other members who would surely need her input. 

Dorian strolled back over to pick up where Vivienne left off, Cassandra standing and walking over with a smile, Yevan looking at her and smiling back broadly. 

"I hope your ready for this. Orlesian nobles will certainly make a cave full of bears sound more appealing." Dorian tittered, taking off his gloves to grab some of the expensive hair product he used for his own look to smooth down Yevan's hair.

"I can handle it. I've become adept at playing shem," The elf assured his friend, reaching out to take Cassandra's hand.

"Have I ever told you how stunning you are in red?" Yevan mused with a smirk, tilting his head as Dorian instructed as the mage styled his hair.

"Why, no, you haven't! I look good in everything, red especially. Tell me again how great I look." Dorian interjected, Cassandra bringing her free hand up to her mouth as she laughed a little.

"You look impeccable, Dorian. Truly. The reddest red rose wilts in comparison." Yevan replied sardonically, the Tevinter humming in agreement.

"A truer sentiment has never been stated." Dorian added, brushing back Yevan's hair before taking a step back to look at his work, stepping back forward and continuing. 

"But you, Cassandra," Yevan turned his gaze back to her.

"You always tell me. My armour is red." Cassandra replied in matter-of-fact tone, the elf grinning.

"It really is a lovely colour on you, emma lath." He cooed, Cassandra smiling as she shook her head.

"Oh, you two." Dorian shook his head, closing up his hair product and putting it away, washing his hands before pulling on his gloves. 

"I'll see you at the ball. Try not to ruin all my hard work, will you?" The mage mused with a knowing smirk at them, heading out of the changing room to go assist anyone surely in need of his services. 

Lavellan watched him go before turning to Cassandra, taking both of her hands in his. 

"We should really head down. They're expecting us to arrive before you." The Seeker commented, the elf groaning. 

"Don't remind me. What better way to send me into the wolves den than to send me in alone?" He stated dully, Cassandra leaning down and tenderly kissing the vallaslin on his forehead.

"You will live. Just be crass and they'll adore you, I'm sure." 

"And here I was thinking you had  _nothing_ in common with the Orlesian court." Yevan laughed, Cassandra rolling her eyes and releasing one of his hands, firmly holding the other one as she lead him out of the changing room.


	28. Breeze

breeze  
brēz  
noun  
_1\. a gentle wind._

 

"I thought you said it wasn't windy, Varric."

"Well, it really  _isn't_. There _are_ worse things the weather can throw at us."

"Oh yeah? Like what?"

" _Snowing_ , for example."

Yevan gave a hum of derision and looked away, walking ahead of their four person party and grumbling about the wind. It wasn't all that windy, just a light breeze blowing down from the mountains. He was just looking for any excuse to be mad that didn't include the two people in his party that weren't Varric.

Cassandra and Solas had both managed to stay quiet for an astounding twenty minutes. He figured they felt they had to, after the screaming match that had taken place moments prior. If Varric hadn't interfered, Yevan was absolutely certain he might've punched one of them. 

Two days. Two  _atrocious_ days that they had been in the Hinterlands and it was by some miracle the elf had already physically fought either Solas or Cassandra. Both were incredibly adept at pushing his buttons and infuriating him to the point of shouting--something he'd never experience before in his life. He had never been so angry that he yelled before meeting them.

Their insufferable presences paired with the stress of having this all on his shoulders, the anxiety from the presence lodged within his hand, the isolation of being with people he couldn't comprehend or deal with  _and_ scouting out a cold landscape for an organisation he was essentially being imprisoned by had left him in a very sour mood. And that was putting it  _mildly._

Varric, at the very least, wasn't expecting anything out of him and was simply keeping things friendly between them. Solas was hell-bent on proving him wrong and advocating his own opinion on matters without any consideration as to how it would make  _him_ , a Dalish elf, feel. Cassandra, while having admitted she was wrong, acted as though he was  _obligated_  to forgive her after imprisoning him and accusing him of the murder of hundreds despite not having apologised to him in the least. 

Everything crashing down on him at once left him tense and defensive, immediately taking offense to anything either the Seeker or apostate would say to him. The littlest thing managed to push him over the fine line that now existed between relaxed and viciously hostile. 

Even a little breeze.

He swore in elven, half-expecting a comment or even a snide noise of ridicule from Solas from even speaking the language that the apostate  _clearly_ knew better than any other elf in all of Thedas. He hadn't even spoken and Yevan was already wound up and pissed off at him for the expected scenario in his mind. 

The heavy clinking of the armour Cassandra wore was starting to wear down on his impossibly thin patience as well. It took a great amount of self control to keep himself from turning and shouting at them again for absolutely no reason whatsoever. 

"You look like you could use a drink." Varric commented, Yevan turning his already fuming stare to the dwarf. He kept him grounded and always managed to force some semblance of a friendly nature out of him when he was nearly at his breaking point. 

"A drink sounds  _so_ delightful..." Yevan said wistfully, tone a bit clipped and flat from forcing down the overwhelming surge of anger threatening to swallow him whole. 

He had no idea how he would get through any of this is Varric wasn't there to set him straight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this prompt.... to be honest this is ridiculous i dont deserve this


	29. Morbid

mor·bid  
ˈmôrbəd  
adjective  
_1\. characterized by or appealing to an abnormal and unhealthy interest in disturbing and unpleasant subjects, especially death and disease._

 

"I have a question." Yevan asked slowly, Cassandra looking at him from where she was reading. They were sitting in bed comfortably for the moment, the only light in the room being that from the fireplace within his chambers. 

"I hope I have an answer." She replied, marking her spot and closing the book, setting it aside. Yevan turned his head and looked at her.

"Mortalitasi. I don't understand them." He murmured, his brows furrowed a tad in what she assumed to be confusion. Cassandra tilted her head.

"Are you still hooked on this subject?" She said dryly, raising a brow. Ever since she'd told him about her uncle back at Haven, he'd been distressed by the idea of the Mortalitasi.

"It's a curious thing. To me, anyways." Yevan shrugged, Cassandra shaking her head.

"I cannot imagine why."

"Death is just... It's a different subject for the Dalish. We have Death Rites and such, you know, the tree thing." Yevan murmured, a far-off look in his eye. Cassandra smiled a tad.

"I understand."

"It's just confusing to me. We embrace death but they... They live with it? Dwell within it?" He turned his head to look at her.

"It is what they do. They are Death Mages." Cassandra assured him. It didn't seem to calm the elf in the least.

"Death isn't all that sacred to us. We deal with it, it's a natural part of life. Natural death, anyway." He murmured, shaking his head. "I just can't understand it."

"Which part? The mummification or the willingness to become a Mortalitasi?" Cassandra asked, reaching over to stroke his hair in some attempt to relax him.

"All of it. All of it is just confusing." Yevan said in finality, leaning towards her touch. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i put this one off for days because honestly  
> what a mess of a prompt


End file.
